The Peacock Part II: Wisteria
by The Kujaku
Summary: Part II of the Peacock. It follows the adventures of Yumichika and Ikkaku as Shinigami, as well as the development of the relationships the two share with their zanpakutos.
1. Chapter 1

**_Welcome, Dear Readers, to Part II of The Peacock. Part II is about Yumichika's and Ikkaku's time as Shinigami. I put their arrival right after the events of Turn Back the Pendulum. In doing my research for continuity purposes, I discovered there are a lot of competing theories of when Kenpachi Zaraki joined the Gotei 13 and who were the seated officers in the other squads when he joined. I did the best I could to keep things straight, but there could be some errors. If that is the case, please be understanding._**

**_I also received a couple PMs asking me about the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. They are all from my favorite band, The Moody Blues. Yeah, a lot of you are probably asking, "Who?" No problem. I say that about a lot of modern bands! _**

**_Lastly, I wanted to try to keep the chapters shorter, but unfortunately, this one just . . . got away from me! I love to write._**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

Chapter 1 The New Officers

_Blackbird sitting in a tree,  
__observing what's below.  
__Acorns falling to the ground.  
__He'll stay and watch them grow._

_The Tide Rushes In  
_Ray Thomas

* * *

"Unnhhhh-aaiii!"

Ikkaku looked up just in time to see something fly across the room. It took him only a second to realize it was a comb.

Yumichika's comb.

A humored grin crossed his face, but he said nothing and tried to hide the misplaced satisfaction he was deriving from the situation.

He and Yumichika were in the latter's room in the officers' quarters of the Eleventh Squad. Almost three weeks had passed since they'd tricked and then fought their way into the squad, and now they held the third and fifth highest seats in the unit. As seated officers, they'd been assigned quarters in the officers' wing of the squad buildings. Each had his own room arranged around a beautifully appointed courtyard, complete with fish pond, stone benches and cultivated shade trees. The rooms were simple and elegant – oak wood paneling on the walls and ceilings, tatami floors, and the wall bordering the courtyard consisting of a series of shoji doors and screens.

While Ikkaku's room looked much the same as it did the day he moved in, Yumichika had quickly turned his room into a sanctuary of beauty, adorning the walls with screens painted by his own hand, depicting the images of peacocks, ferny glades, and gold cages; he designed and sewed his own luxurious linens of green, gold and silver for the enormous futon he had procured, surrounding it with sheers of pale maroon, highlighted again with veins of gold. Four lamps, each different in make and appearance, cast the room in any variation of bright or dim light, colored or white. At least a dozen mirrors, some small and wall-mounted, others full-size and standing, were spread about the room, offering its occupant constant access to his image. There was a rug of eastern motif in the center of the room, and dozens of cushions and pillows were thrown upon it as a sitting area. A brass coal burner stood in one corner of the room, and the smell of incense filled the air with a heady aroma even after the granules had burned out.

For someone who had not wanted to be a Shinigami, Yumichika had settled right in and made himself at home.

"This—this looks terrible! I refuse to go out again looking like this! It's humiliating!" Yumichika fumed. He was standing in front of one of the full-length mirrors, pulling his hair every which way – back, to one side then the other, up, down, gathered, loose.

"You look fine," Ikkaku replied, his manner so obviously tongue-in-cheek that it only served to further stoke Yumichika's frustration. As Yumichika shot him a warning glare, he added, "It's the back of your head – no one even notices."

"Of course, they notice!" Yumichika retorted. "Everyone notices me! And when they're staring, they can't help but see the big bare patch on the back of my head! No matter how I arrange my hair, I can't cover it!"

Ikkaku chuckled. "Maybe you'll start a new trend."

"Will you _please_ shut up? This is serious, and you've been no help the past three weeks," Yumichika sniffed. "It's bad enough the gouge you put in my head is taking forever to heal, but I'm also stuck with this . . . freakish bare spot. Honestly, Ikkaku, this is all your fault."

Ikkaku stood up from where he'd been lounging among the pillows, polishing his sword. He left the weapon behind as he came to stand behind Yumichika and examined his hair with exaggerated interest. "I think it's a vast improvement. Your old look was so boring and—" He cut off abruptly as Yumichika elbowed him in the ribs.

"You are a heathen with no taste and no appreciation of beauty," Yumichika charged, smoothing over the unbalanced cut as best he could.

Ikkaku grinned. Reaching around in front of Yumichika, he took hold of his wrists and drew his arms behind him, away from their incessant primping and fussing. "Now, you know that's not true," he said in a challenging voice. "I might be a heathen, but I do appreciate beauty."

Yumichika met his eyes in the mirror. "You're not acting like it right now."

Ikkaku's grin deepened with a playful slyness. "That's because I'm not seeing anything beautiful right now—"

Yumichika jerked his arms forward in protest, but Ikkaku had been anticipating this and tightened his grip, holding Yumichika's hands fast behind his back. A brief scuffle ensued as Yumichika twisted like a snake, breaking loose after several seconds; and then, tripping up Ikkaku in his pursuit, he pounced on top of him and dug a knee into his chest.

And with this, Ikkaku was well pleased. More than pleased; he was thrilled. He could not explain it, but ever since they had joined the Gotei Thirteen, his relationship with Yumichika had been nothing short of splendid.

Yumichika had taken him completely by surprise in his easy adaptation to life as a Shinigami and as a member of Zaraki's squad. To be sure, Yumichika had not taken on the bellicose, gruff nature of his squad; but he was certainly taking the development of his fighting skills seriously. He seemed to relish the opportunity to try his hand and release his weapon. He felt so assured of victory that he welcomed the chance to dole out defeat. He'd not lost the refined mannerisms that had marked him as different from everyone else, but the timidity seemed to have gone up in smoke. The egotistical, self-loving admirer of beauty above all things had emerged in full force as a personality to contend with, and yet vestiges of the kind and gentle soul still peeked through from time to time.

In short, Yumichika was doing exactly what Ikkaku had told him he must do. He was turning into another person while still maintaining whatever vestiges of his previous self might be useful in his life as a Shinigami. As such, he was already developing into a warrior of considerable strength; but he also was growing more vain, increasingly snarky and biting, and more flippant than Ikkaku had ever known him to be.

What a combination! Ikkaku could not have asked for more. Now, as he lay on his back, Yumichika perched on top of him, purposefully grinding his bony knee into his chest, he wondered if he had ever been this happy before. The days of joy in Venla seemed like a pale comparison.

"You know, I could throw you off just like that," he pointed out.

Yumichika was not impressed. "And I could seduce you just like that. Right here. Right now. All I'd have to do is let a little of my reiatsu fly, and you'd be done for."

Ikkaku eyed him with a provocatively challenging glint. "What's stopping you?"

"Do you want me to bring the whole place running?" Yumichika asked.

"So, what good is your power if you can't limit its use to just one person?" Ikkaku went on. "I mean, after all, if I'm the one you want to seduce, what good is it if you run the risk of seducing everyone when you only want me?"

"I guess I'll just have to be careful," Yumichika replied, his voice ironically careless.

Ikkaku's grin widened. In the next instant, he had dislodged Yumichika, thrown him to the floor and was now the one in charge, sitting across Yumichika's waist and pinning his hands down. He leaned down and said in a near-whisper, "You see, I know all your weaknesses. That's why you'll never be able to defeat me."

"You idiot," Yumichika scoffed. "You know I was only exaggerating about bringing the whole place running."

"Huh?"

"You know I'm better able to control my reiatsu now. If I release a modest amount, others will feel it," Yumichika explained. "But if I release only the smallest hint, it won't go much further than . . . you." With the last word, he let his spirit energy seep into the space between them. "I'll teach you not to tease me."

Ikkaku readily imbibed the seductive draught. "You act as if this is a punishment." He ran his hand down Yumichika's arms and pressed against him.

Yumichika smiled to himself, indulging the feel of Ikkaku's body close to his. He, too, had noticed the change in their relationship, although he was not sure it was all for the better. True, Ikkaku's spirits had been running exceptionally high since the moment he'd laid eyes on Zaraki three weeks ago. Getting into the squad and attaining third seat right away had played into that elation, and the prospect of serving under the man seemed to be Ikkaku's driving motivation. Even the mere proximity of Zaraki had been enough to bolster Ikkaku's mood and prompt him to resume his attentions to Yumichika without a sense of obligation or bitterness.

And yet, Yumichika knew something was missing. Ikkaku's attentiveness was not due to anything Yumichika had done; it was not due to Ikkaku's own fondness for Yumichika. It was the result of an accommodation, and one that Yumichika was not fully reconciled to.

Like a cheating spouse, Ikkaku had found a release – someone other than Yumichika to provide him his fix. The availability of that release, of that other person—namely, Zaraki—had enabled Ikkaku to look once again upon Yumichika with equanimity. Ikkaku had found what he was looking for outside their friendship, and that outside influence was the only thing sustaining their friendship at the moment. Yumichika knew that if Zaraki were to vanish from Ikkaku's life, Ikkaku's kind indulgence towards himself would also vanish.

But in truth, Yumichika was only partly correct in his assessment. It was true that Zaraki had provided something in Ikkaku's life – perhaps the sense of purpose and meaning of which Ikkaku had spoken, or perhaps something even Ikkaku himself did not recognize. But the real moment of change, the genuine shift in perspective had taken place in Ikkaku's mind and heart when he'd watched Yumichika fight for a place in Zaraki's squad.

Ikkaku had known full well that Yumichika had no desire to be any part of the Gotei Thirteen, and probably least of all, part of Squad Eleven. And yet, he'd set everything aside, brought forth his skill and physical ability, left behind the mantle of seductive prowess, and defeated his opponent handily, sword against sword, for the sole purpose of staying with Ikkaku. Then he'd almost defeated Ikkaku, would have beaten him, should have beaten him . . . and held back at the last moment, knowing that his own defeat would have meant being separated from Ikkaku. He'd not been willing to subject Ikkaku to the humiliation of defeat. He'd known that a loss for Ikkaku would have meant the end of Ikkaku's chance to serve with Zaraki, and he'd decided that he would rather lose Ikkaku than see Ikkaku lose Zaraki.

It was something Ikkaku would not have expected from Yumichika, but something he felt he should have expected. Yumichika was a good man. Too good, Ikkaku had concluded, and so he was happy to see Yumichika starting down a new road that included a bit less gentility and a bit more fortitude, a bit less seduction and a bit more physicality.

Of course, at the moment, the tiny bit of seductive power he was exerting was pleasing enough to remind Ikkaku that seduction should not be fully eliminated from Yumichika's arsenal.

"It's not meant as a punishment," Yumichika whispered. "It's meant as a reminder."

"Oh?" Ikkaku queried, anticipating perhaps a small token of Yumichika's affection.

Yumichika knew he had him. "That I'm stronger than you."

Hearing these words, Ikkaku bellowed with affected outrage and got to his feet, pulling Yumichika up with him. "Stronger? You really think you're stronger than me? We'll see about that." He pulled Yumichika out into the courtyard, crossing over the pond on the small wooden bridge that spanned from one side to the other at the narrowest point. He crossed through an opening in the west-facing wall of the officers' quarters, entering the squad administrative area. Here, he headed for the quartermaster's wing on the south side of the adjoining courtyard.

"Where are we going?!" Yumichika demanded through barely contained laughter, drawing all manner of attention from curious onlookers. It was only shortly into evening, and many squad members were milling about on their way to or from different activities.

"You'll find out soon enough!" Ikkaku replied.

The truth of his words was proven within a few seconds as Yumichika caught sight of the squad barber's sign. It was enough to set him resisting in earnest.

"No! Ikkaku, no! Please, not—not a barber! A military barber! Ikkaku, no!"

"You're so worried about your hair, and then—then you insult me by saying you're stronger than me! So, we're going to put two birds to rest with one stone!" Ikkaku dragged him inside and called out for the barber. He needn't have bothered. The barber, a man named Sakura, had heard the commotion clear across the courtyard and had come from the backroom to see what the ruckus was.

"Ah, it's our new Third Seat! Madarame-san!" He was smiling broadly, his pudgy face beaming with pleasure as the crowd of onlookers grew outside the shop. "And the new Fifth Seat! Ayasegawa-san, you don't look very happy to be here."

"He's here for a haircut—" Ikkaku began.

"No, I'm not!" Yumichika protested shrilly. "I'm—I'm here against my will!"

Ikkaku wrapped his arms around him, pinning them to his sides. "He's been driving me nuts over the way they cut his hair away, and I—"

"You want him to try sporting your shaved head look?" Sakura said hopefully.

Ikkaku considered. "That's not a bad idea . . . "

"Ikkaku!" Yumichika cried. "I swear—I swear—if you don't let me go, I'll do it! I'll let loose on everyone here and—"

"You're so full of it," Ikkaku grinned, then nodding to several squad members who were at the forefront of the crowd, standing in the doorway, he motioned them inside. "He needs to sit still or else he's going to get knicked." He forced Yumichika into the chair, and three of the men joined him in holding Yumichika in place.

"Let go of me!" Yumichika was still laughing at the absurdity of the situation, but his reluctance was real. "If you let them shave my head, I'll—"

He was cut off by the sound of a high voice, a child's voice, bubbling with excitement. "Yayyy! Weirdo's getting a haircut! Let me! Let me!"

Lieutenant Kusajishi.

Before anyone could blink an eye, she had drawn her sword, scattering everyone except the occupant of the barber's chair.

In the mirror, Yumichika saw the glint of a blade angling towards his head. He closed his eyes and cringed. There was a moment when it felt like a cool breeze against his neck, then . . .

He opened his eyes onto his image in the mirror. His head was still attached to his neck. Only now, his hair ended abruptly just below his ears. The beautiful long tresses were gone. A glance at the floor showed them lying forlorn and black against the whitewashed tile.

"Now it won't take so long for the back to grow out!" The lieutenant proclaimed. "You only need a few centimeters!"

Ikkaku could feel the rage bubbling. He could see it as Yumichika's fingers slowly curled into fists and his jaw clenched tighter. The red began rising in Yumichika's cheeks.

"It's gorgeous, lieutenant," Ikkaku blurted out, quickly taking Yumichika by the arm and pulling him out of the chair.

Yumichika was struggling to say something, but prudence was competing with outrage, so no words were forthcoming.

Ikkaku sped him back to the officers' quarters as quickly as possible, noting the surprised stares of the fellow Shinigami as they passed. Once back in Yumichika's room, he placed him immediately in front of a mirror and attempted damage control.

"Look, look! You're beautiful!" he insisted. "You—it looks perfect on you!"

Yumichika could barely bring himself to raise his eyes to his reflection.

"Yumichika, look . . . I'm serious. Look at yourself. You . . . " Ikkaku realized he wasn't just speaking to comfort Yumichika. He was speaking because it was true. His voice grew softer. "You really are beautiful. It suits you." He raised Yumichika's head and turned his gaze towards the mirror. "See?"

Yumichika looked at himself. For several seconds, he could not see it. He found nothing attractive in his image. But then slowly, as his eye grew used to the new dimensions, he discovered that he was not so horrified by what he was seeing. In fact . . . there was something pleasant there.

"I guess . . . it's not so bad," he said at last, although his voice lacked enthusiasm.

"You see. I told you," Ikkaku smiled.

"Don't get carried away," Yumichika pouted. "It's acceptable, but it's not as beautiful as before."

"I think it's a better look for you as a Shinigami," Ikkaku stated, taking an appraising step back and looking at him with scrutiny. "Yes, it definitely carries more authority."

"Oh brother, you are really pouring it on thick," Yumichika grimaced.

Ikkaku cocked his head to one side. "So? It may be thick, but it's true." He sat down among the pillows. " But, uh, I _am_ curious."

"About what?" Yumichika asked, running his fingers through his hair and getting used to the new feel.

"Why didn't Fuji Kujaku heal you? I mean, he could have healed you completely and probably made your hair grow back by now. I know you said he was mad at you, but what did you do to piss him off that badly?" Ikkaku asked. "It's been three weeks."

Yumichika tried to appear disinterested. "Oh, he's just very moody. He'll get over it eventually."

"But what happened? Why did he get mad in the first place?" Ikkaku persisted.

Yumichika frowned. He couldn't answer that question truthfully. He wasn't even sure of the answer any more.

"He wants complete freedom, and as a zanpakuto, he can't have it. I can't let him run amok," he replied.

"You make him sound like he's a wild animal," Ikkaku said with a grin.

But Yumichika found no humor in the observation. His thoughts returned to the image of Ruri'iro Kujaku in the cage, driven to panic by his captivity. Wild animal was not so far removed from the truth.

When Yumichika did not respond, Ikkaku asked, "What's he like?"

Yumichika shrugged. "I told you . . . he's moody and unpredictable."

"Okay, but that can't be all. I mean, you said he taught you how to fight, so he's got to be pretty skilled," Ikkaku pressed.

Yumichika nodded. "He's the best fighter I've ever seen. Even better than you, Ikkaku." He paused, expecting Ikkaku to protest, but he didn't. "He's very beautiful."

"More beautiful than you?" Ikkaku challenged.

Yumichika's emotions churned inside him. Speaking of Ruri'iro Kujaku only made him want to see the reikon even more; yet he knew Ruri'iro Kujaku did not want to see him. And he couldn't blame him. Things had gone very wrong.

"Yes," he whispered at last. "Much more beautiful than me."

"Much more? I find that hard to believe. Maybe a little more beautiful, but a lot? No way," Ikkaku teased, immediately sensing Yumichika's turmoil and hoping to lighten his mood.

"He's . . . you wouldn't believe it," Yumichika replied. "You have to see him to believe how beautiful he is. It's like . . . looking at the sun."

Ikkaku was still smiling. "I know the feeling."

Yumichika actually blushed, and before he knew it, he said, "I miss him."

"Miss him?"

"He has his own world inside me . . . " Yumichika hesitated, realizing how strange that sounded. "And I can go there to see him. But I haven't seen him for weeks. He won't come to me." He turned back to his image in the mirror.

Ikkaku found this explanation confusing, but that was not important at the moment. He could see Yumichika was upset, and he did not want that. He had seen enough sadness on Yumichika. He now wanted to see a return of happiness.

"Yumichika," he said, and when Yumichika turned, he motioned with his head. "Come sit down."

Yumichika did so. Ikkaku reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "You know, if he's moody, he got it from you."

"I guess so," Yumichika admitted, then he craned his head around and looked at Ikkaku with questioning eyes. "Am I that difficult to deal with?"

"Well, I don't know what Fuji Kujaku is like, so I can't give you a comparison, but I can tell you that . . . yes, you can be handful."

Yumichika managed a cheeky grin and parroted Ikkaku's earlier statement. "I know the feeling."

"Hey!"

"Sometimes I don't know who's more difficult: you or Fuji Kujaku," Yumichika quipped.

"Well, I'll do my best to gain that honor," Ikkaku said, then for a shame-faced moment, "I think I've caused you enough grief over the years that the title should be mine anyways." He paused. "Besides, you shouldn't be mad at your zanpakuto. I'll tell you what – if I had that kind of power, I'd make sure I was on good terms with him."

Yumichika did not miss the irony in Ikkaku's statement. If, in fact, it was true that Ikkaku had a zanpakuto, Yumichika wondered what kind of relationship Ikkaku would have with his weapon.

"It's not that easy," Yumichika replied. "We've always had a sort of . . . up and down relationship. I'm supposed to be his master, but he's so powerful that . . . " He stopped talking, wondering if he were saying too much. He resumed along a different path. "He's been very jealous of you since the beginning."

"Jealous of me?" Ikkaku was surprised. "Why?"

"It's like I told you. He's very possessive, and he doesn't like anyone or anything that takes my attention away from him," Yumichika answered.

"Well, to be honest, Yumichika, I've been jealous of him, too."

Yumichika raised an eyebrow. "But—but it's not like I asked for a zanpakuto. And you know, you could have one of your own if you'd—"

"I didn't say I was jealous of you for having a zanpakuto – though I am. I said I was jealous of Fuji Kujaku," Ikkaku corrected.

"But you've never even met him. How can you be jealous?"

Ikkaku did not like to speak of anything that hinted at his own weakness and insecurity. But in this case, he would do it.

"You have a relationship with him that I can't see or hear. I don't know what goes on between the two of you. I only know what you've told me about him and the little bit I've seen of you using him." He drew his hands together and leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. "What that all boils down to is the fact that Fuji Kujaku is stronger than I am. He's the one who's healed you and saved your life when I could do nothing." He gathered his resolve to admit to feelings he did not want to acknowledge. "When we were in the flume, after you insisted that I go back after him . . . that was when . . . I hated him right then. I guess I've kind of hated him ever since. I realized that you would have risked your own life going back to get him, and I couldn't believe I was risking _my_ life for him. I just wanted him to go away at that point. I was angry that you were willing to risk your own life and mine for him. And I was jealous that you were putting someone else—something else—ahead of me."

Yumichika was flabbergasted. "But you didn't even want me around."

"I was acting stupid—"

"So, maybe being jealous of Fuji Kujaku made you realize you did want me with you."

"Maybe," Ikkaku conceded. "The point is that Fuji Kujaku was turning out to be better than me in every situation. Every situation. I know you could have beaten me when we fought to get into the squad. The victory was there in your hand, and you let it get away."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Yumichika replied. "There was just some part of me that couldn't bear the thought of what it would mean for you not to get into Zaraki's squad. If I had won, you'd have been kicked out – or at least, that's what I believed at the time. I guess he really intended to let us both in all along."

"That's probably true, but what I'm telling you is that you and Fuji Kujaku would have defeated me," Ikkaku persisted. "How could I not be jealous of such a power?"

"Zaraki defeated you, and you're not jealous of him," Yumichika pointed out.

"That's totally different," Ikkaku said dismissively.

"How's it different?"

"Because he's supposed to be stronger than me," Ikkaku said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but then realizing what a ridiculous explanation it really was.

"So, I'm supposed to be weaker than you? Me and my zanpakuto are supposed to be your inferiors?" Yumichika bristled.

"Without your zanpakuto, you _are_ weaker than me, Yumichika. Let's not pretend," Ikkaku replied. "Fuji Kujaku is the one who tips the scales. And look, let's not argue. It's bad enough I had to admit being jealous of a zanpakuto. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Yumichika considered. It really was not worth getting excited about. "Sure," he agreed, then added, "You know, you wouldn't have to be jealous if you'd work on awakening your own zanpakuto."

Ikkaku thought about the voice inside his head. He recalled the day beside the watering hole as he'd waited for Yumichika to return from his search for Zaraki. The voice had said it was a zanpakuto. Ikkaku's zanpakuto.

Ikkaku hadn't believed it then. He didn't believe it now. The weapon he'd been carrying with him all these years was no more alive than any other combination of wood and steel.

The conversation he'd had that day had been a figment of his imagination, the result of his own increasing jealousy over Yumichika's possession of a zanpakuto.

"This isn't a zanpakuto. It's just a sword," he said flatly. "I don't need a zanpakuto. I rely on my own strength."

"Every Shinigami has to have a zanpakuto," Yumichika reminded him. "If that isn't one, Zaraki will eventually make you get one. Besides, how do you know that's not a zanpakuto? Have you even tried to communicate with it?"

Ikkaku did not like the sound of this conversation. "I don't have time for stupid shit like that."

"It's not stupid—"

"Okay, it's not stupid, but it's not anything I want to talk about, Yumichika," Ikkaku said in a stern voice. "So, let's drop it."

Yumichika nodded. "Okay." He knew a bail when he saw it. Ikkaku was diverting attention away from a topic that pained him. It seemed clear to Yumichika that Ikkaku desperately wanted a zanpakuto but, true to character, was unwilling to admit it. Yumichika decided to join him in the diversion.

"I'm starving," he said. "We should go get something to eat."

"You want to go to the mess hall?"

Yumichika wrinkled his nose at the idea of cafeteria-style dining. "No, thanks."

Ikkaku had known this would be the answer. He was well aware that Yumichika hated eating in the mess hall. Eleventh Squad shared a dining facility with Squads Twelve and Thirteen; and while it was mostly the lower ranks who ate there, it was open to officers, as well. The food was fair, certainly nothing compared to Yumichika's cooking. But that was not why Yumichika didn't like the mess hall. The place tended to be crowded, loud, and when filled with Zaraki's squad members, vulgar and crude. At least once a week, some confrontation or other flared up, degenerating into a food fight of brigade-level proportions. Yumichika hated it. He felt like he were in a zoo where the animals were permitted to run loose.

Ikkaku, on the other hand, loved it. The complete lack of propriety felt like a comfortable old coat. The lower ranks did not have to maintain the façade of responsibility and serious-mindedness that the officers were expected to portray - although, such facades were not to be found in Squad Eleven, even among the officers.

And Ikkaku learned right away that Squad Twelve was even more off-the-chart than Zaraki's men.

Squad Twelve was home to the Research and Technology Department. They were a bizarre collection of misfits who claimed an affinity for science. Ikkaku believed, however, that they were more interested in finding legitimacy in their desire to conduct questionable experiments than they were in uncovering any scientific wonders.

Their captain was a man named Mayuri Kurotsuchi, and he was as close to diabolical as anything Ikkaku had ever seen. Without even knowing much about the man, Ikkaku had already decided that there was something intensely disturbing about him. It was as if he were continually sizing up everyone he met in terms of their usefulness as test subjects, and he had no regrets about it. He was only newly appointed as captain, and Ikkaku had heard some rumors that he had spent time in The Maggots' Nest – a detention area reserved for only those considered to be dangers to Soul Society. How he ever became a captain was something Ikkaku preferred not to contemplate. There was a lot of talk in the Gotei Thirteen about strange experiments involving hollowfication and the banishment of the former head of Squad Twelve to the world of the living, resulting in Kurotsuchi's ascension to the captaincy.

But the main topic of discussion among the squads centered around the disappearance of a number of seated officers from different squads, several of them captains and lieutenants. It was a mystery that merited much conjecture, the consensus seeming to be that wherever the former Squad Twelve captain was, so were they.

Still, it seemed inconceivable that the previous captain could have been worse than Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

Yumichika detested him. His hatred stemmed from only his fourth day as a Shinigami. He and Ikkaku had been sent to the quartermaster and then the tailor to be fit with proper Shinigami uniforms (although Yumichika honestly believed the ones he had made were more fashionable). On the way to the tailor and thinking that there was no one else around, Yumichika had, in a moment of vanity, released a small amount of his seductive ability in an attempt to make himself feel more attractive, given the state of his hair and the ugly gouge in the back of his head. The release had been intended only for Ikkaku, who had reacted with warmth but nothing more, and that had been all Yumichika was going for.

Then a man of strange appearance materialized as if from thin air.

"My, my, that's an interesting ability you have," he noted, his voice as whimsical as his looks. His skin was colored chalky white with black around the eyes, giving his face a skull-like appearance. He wore an oblong hat of stiff green and gold material that rose like a knot on the top of his head. He had no discernible hair and where his ears would be, instead, corkscrew like cones protruded. He wore a captain's haori, and it was only this sign of rank that prevented both Ikkaku and Yumichika from ignoring the man.

"Ability?" Yumichika was so cool, Ikkaku could not help but be impressed.

"Ta-ta-ta . . . don't play games," the unidentified captain chastised. "I'm highly attuned to all kinds of spiritual pressure, but I have to say I've never known anyone to have _that_ particular power."

"Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about," Yumichika deferred.

"Do you not see what I'm wearing? Do you not see that I'm a captain?" The man asked. "I'm Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi, Captain of the Twelfth Squad and Head of the Department of Research and Technology. I can't be fooled by the lies of a simpleton." He leaned close and stared at Yumichika with eyes the color of gold. "What squad are you?"

Ikkaku, sensing Yumichika was on the verge of a narcissistic outburst, intervened. "We both just joined Eleventh Squad a few days ago."

"Eleventh Squad? Zaraki's men?" Kurotsuchi made a sound of disgust. "How grotesque. But maybe I should ask him if I can borrow you for a few weeks to conduct some experiments." This last statement was directed solely at Yumichika.

"I'm not going to be in any experiment for you," Yumichika replied bluntly. "And I don't know what you think you felt, but—"

"Now, now, you'd better address me with more respect than that," the captain warned, wagging a finger in Yumichika's face. "Because if you ever end up in my hands, you'll want to make sure you're on my good side."

"Captain Kur—Kuro . . . " Ikkaku began, stumbling over the name.

"Kurotsuchi."

"Captain Kurotsuchi, I think this is an issue that you'd better take up with Captain Zaraki," he said, deftly sliding his shoulder into the space between Yumichika and the captain of Twelfth Squad.

Kurotsuchi shrugged in what seemed almost too careless a manner, considering his seriousness only seconds earlier. "Eh, it's not necessary. If it's something I feel like pursuing, I'll get what I want, with or without Zaraki's cooperation." He smiled, and with his painted features, the expression was sinister. "With or without your cooperation."

And then he'd disappeared as abruptly as he'd shown up.

Ikkaku had found the encounter disturbing, yet strangely amusing. Captain Kurotsuchi was a character among characters, a little frightening but highly entertaining. A challenge. Looking at Yumichika, though, he could tell he did not share the same opinion.

"What a horrible man," Yumichika said with a distasteful glare. "And completely lacking in beauty."

That had been his opinion then, and it had remained his opinion. In fact, Kurotsuchi's demeanor had so affronted Yumichika that he'd almost immediately developed the same sour opinion of all the members of Squad Twelve.

So, it was not unexpected that anyplace where the blood-thirsty dregs of Eleventh Squad came together with the squirrely sadists of the Twelfth Squad, chaos and an altogether unsettling atmosphere resulted.

Yumichika wanted no part of it, and Ikkaku was inclined to acquiesce to him on the matter. Being with just the members of Eleventh Squad was sufficient for Ikkaku, and Yumichika seemed to handle that well enough. No sense in pushing things too far, especially as they'd only been Shinigami for just shy of three weeks.

Of course, the third component in the equation was Thirteenth Squad – an altogether different animal from either Eleventh or Twelfth Squad. And perhaps the only reason complete anarchy did not ensue in the common areas shared by the three squads.

Ikkaku and Yumichika had not yet had the chance to meet the squad's captain. He was said to be sickly, yet insanely powerful. In his stead and acting with his authority was the squad's vice-captain, Kaien Shiba. Both Ikkaku and Yumichika recognized him immediately as the man they had deceived at the outer wall in order to gain entrance to the Seireitei.

But if his failure bothered the lieutenant, he had not shown it. Upon the their first subsequent meeting, Shiba had reacted with surprised to realize he'd been duped.

"Well, shame on me for being fooled so easily," he quipped good-naturedly. "But you know, I have to get revenge now, so keep your guard up."

The rest of the squad was just like him. Easy-going but efficient. Highly motivated and dedicated to their captain – almost to a fault. A considerable amount of foolhardiness infused the squad members – they liked to play around and stir things up; but it was impossible to miss the underlying strength of focus when it came to carrying out missions. Squad Thirteen spent more time than any other squad reconnoitering the world of the living and sending souls to Soul Society. They were experts at it, and all their experience had enabled them to develop a sense of empathy and compassion for souls in turmoil. When a soul was on the verge of turning into a hollow, members of Squad Thirteen were dispatched.

The members of Thirteenth Squad were much more to Yumichika's liking, but Ikkaku found them boring. They were not so much interested in battles or contests as they were in carrying out the primary mission of Souls Reapers. Saving souls was paramount in Squad Thirteen.

Needless to say, the combination of the three squads in the dining facility was enough to make Yumichika lose his appetite. On the few occasions when he ate out, he much preferred to eat in the officers' mess or better yet, in the smattering of restaurants within the Gotei Thirteen area. Neither he nor Ikkaku had ventured out much into the greater surroundings of the Seireitei to search out dining establishments. Instead, Yumichika made good use of the officers' quarters common cooking area, the aroma of his dishes often drawing in other officers anxious to try some home-cooking.

But he was not cooking tonight. He wanted to have someone else do the cooking.

"How about the officers' mess?" Ikkaku offered.

Yumichika was ambivalent. "I don't know. I don't feel like eating . . . average stuff. I want something exceptional, but I don't want to have to make it."

"So, let's hit one of the restaurants," Ikkaku suggested. "You liked the last place we ate. What was it called? The Black Swan or something like that?"

"It was The Black Plum." Yumichika shrugged. "Sure, we can go there again." He stood up and went to the forest green lacquer garderobe against the back wall. "Let me put on something decent."

Over the past two weeks, Yumichika had made the most of his new post as a seated officer to procure fabrics and recreate a modest wardrobe for his off-duty hours. But the word modest only applied to the number of items. The garments themselves were every bit as colorful and ostentatious their owner.

In fact, in the Gotei Thirteen, where most Shinigami wore their uniforms even in their off-duty hours, Yumichika's mode of dressing, especially given his beauty, was definitely an attention-grabber. And it made Ikkaku feel strange, for in all the years he'd known Yumichika, he'd only once berated him for his fanciful appearance – and that hadn't been a genuine criticism, but rather the work of a fit of pique. He'd grown used to Yumichika's bright colors, his excessive level of cleanliness and delicacy, his wearing of clothing items that a man should never wear.

But now, he felt self-conscious about the stares Yumichika garnered. He'd actually felt embarrassed on several occasions when Yumichika had rolled out in the evening looking like the most beautiful _woman_ in all of Soul Society.

He watched now as Yumichika looked through the garderobe and pulled out an andon hakama made of violet ribbed material. As he looked for a suitable top, that was when Ikkaku decided to intervene.

"Let's just wear our uniforms," he suggested. "It'll save us time."

Yumichika simpered. "It won't take me but a second—"

"I'm starving, and we don't have a second," Ikkaku insisted, taking Yumichika by the arm and pulling him towards the door.

"Hold on!" Yumichika protested. "At least let me pull my hair back. This way, it won't be so obvious." He peeled loose from Ikkaku's grip and drew his hair back into a short pony-tail that still could not mask the bare spot.

Ikkaku shook his head and stepped forward. He reached up and loosed the tie in Yumichika's hair. "Yumichika, stop worrying about it. You . . . you know no one will ever be as beautiful as you are. It doesn't matter what you're wearing. It doesn't matter if you have a patch in the back of your head. What matters now is that you keep working to fit in."

Yumichika regarded him curiously. "What are you trying to say, Ikkaku?"

"I—I'm just asking you to tone it down a little," Ikkaku replied. "You're going to draw attention no matter what, so why not . . . why not give them a few less reasons to gawk at you."

"You . . . don't want them looking at me?" Yumichika asked.

"Well . . . "

"So, dragging me across the courtyard and chopping my hair off wasn't an attention-grabber?" Yumichika was smirking now, his arms folded smugly across his chest.

"That was different!" Ikkaku insisted. "I just didn't want you to—I couldn't bear to hear you go on any more about your hair."

"And now you want me to dress as dull and drab as the rest of them so that I don't draw any more attention," Yumichika humphed.

"Look, most of the other Shinigami wear their uniforms all day," Ikkaku pointed out. "I just think we should be like them."

"Like everyone else . . . "

"You know what I mean, Yumichika," Ikkaku stated flatly.

Yumichika was silent for several seconds. When he spoke again, he was noncommittal. "It's a stupid thing for you to be concerned about." With that, he went outside. "Come on, let's go before it gets too crowded."

* * *

_"And he's worried about _me_ attracting attention for the wrong reasons."_

Yumichika rolled his eyes. He then reached across the table and slid the decanter off the table and out of Ikkaku's reach. It was testimony to how much Ikkaku had already drank that he did not even notice Yumichika's action until he reached out to refill his glass.

"Where—where's the bottle?" he slurred.

"It's empty," Yumichika replied.

"Empty? But there was – it was full a few seconds ago!" Ikkaku cried out.

"Yes, well now, it's empty and you're full," Yumichika stated. "And I think it's time for us to head back. You've had enough."

Five minutes later they were on the way back to the Squad Eleven area. The Black Plum was within the Gotei Thirteen's limits, but it was clear on the opposite side of the grounds from the squad, located in the same area as Squads Five and Six. Still, the night was pleasant, and being as they were off-duty tomorrow, Ikkaku and Yumichika could take it slow on the way back to the officers' quarters. They had little choice, really; for Ikkaku was teetering like the drunken man he was at the moment.

Yumichika swore to himself he would never let Ikkaku get this intoxicated again, for not only was he a sloppy, slobbering mess who could barely walk on his own, but he was speaking at the top of his lungs, nearly shouting out words that would have embarrassed even the most self-centered narcissist.

"You know, if they had a—a beauty contest in the Go-Gotei Thirteen, I'll bet—you'd—you'd win every category, you know?" he warbled. "You'd—even the women—you'd beat even them!"

So much for toning it down.

"Yes, I'm sure I would," Yumichika said.

"And if you want to wear a flo-flo-flower—y thing, then . . . you do it!"

Yumichika only shook his head and said nothing. He continued on, half-carrying Ikkaku through the maze of streets that wended their way around the Squad Six barracks, since the idea of cutting through the area was completely out of the question. They had learned that much a week ago on their first outing to find a suitable place to dine. In their hurry to return to Squad Eleven's barracks, in the midst of a sudden downpour, they'd decided to cut through the Squad Six area. They'd been immediately confronted and ordered to go around.

This time, Yumichika would go around again. He had absolutely no chance of sneaking a drunken man through Squad Six's area.

Many of the passageways looked the same, especially in the torch-lit darkness. Yumichika had only been this way twice before, and he wasn't sure he was taking the right way back. He was about to stop and take stock when an explosion blew out the wall behind him, throwing both him and Ikkaku to the ground and raining debris down on top of them.

He started to push up onto his hands and knees, moving slowly to clear his head. He heard Ikkaku shout something and raised his head just in time to see him leap up and over the outer wall of the Squad Six barracks on the opposite side of the alley from where the explosion had occurred.

"Ikkaku!" Yumichika called out, getting to his feet. In one effortless leap, he followed Ikkaku over the wall, but landing on the other side, he did not see him. He was on the boundary of a fairly large ornamental garden. His eyes strained through the darkness to the quarter beyond. He could see a number of figures running towards the sound of the explosion, and then on the far side of the quarter, he caught sight of a man running in the opposite direction. The moonlight glinting off the man's head told him he'd spotted Ikkaku.

He began running. He was much faster than Ikkaku, so he felt confident he could catch him.

And then he found himself plowing face-first into the ground, his arms pinned and bound at his sides, his legs trussed together with glowing ropes tighter than steel bands. He spit out a mouthful of grass and dirt, grateful for the softness of the ground beneath him, but furious with himself for having been caught so off-guard.

A moment later he felt someone's foot in his side as they rolled him onto his back.

"He's wearing a Shinigami uniform, but I don't recognize him." A woman was standing over him, her glare visible even through the darkness. "He's not one of ours."

"I'm in Squad Eleven—"

"Be quiet. Don't speak unless you're spoken to," the woman warned. She was joined by three men. They all stood staring down at Yumichika, their faces burning with anger.

"Squad Eleven . . . I wouldn't be surprised," one of the men stated.

"That's if you can believe him," another said. "He doesn't exactly look like the Zaraki type."

"I'm telling you, I'm in Squad Eleven, and my friend just ran off across the garden! I think he's chasing someone!" Yumichika insisted.

"I told you to keep quiet," the woman reiterated. "Now, do as I say. I won't hesitate to use another bakudo spell to gag you."

"But he could be in trouble!"

Those were Yumichika's last words.

"Bakudo 4! Hainawa!"

A crawling rope of glowing light leapt from the woman's outstretched finger, circling around Yumichika's head and across his mouth, effectively silencing him.

"Go get Umenai and tell him we've caught one," the woman instructed one of the men who was off quickly.

All Yumichika could do now was wait.

* * *

Ikkaku was getting close. He might not be the fastest man in the Gotei Thirteen and he might still be drunk, but maybe it was that inebriated state that had made him throw caution to the wind and pursue with reckless abandon.

His quarry was not very fast, which was a good thing. But he was nimble – if it were a he. He, she – it didn't matter. Whoever it was, they were good at going over rooftops, across water, and under low structures.

But Ikkaku was good at these things, too; and he was faster than the one he was chasing. As he closed the distance between them, he saw that the other person was carrying something over his shoulder, but he could not make out what it was.

He got his answer in the next few seconds. Rounding a corner, he just caught sight of the runner ditching the item to one side as he ran; and then freed of his burden, his speed increased. Ikkaku tried to keep up with him for another minute, but it was no good. The man disappeared.

Ikkaku scowled at his failure. He turned and headed back to where the item had been discarded. It was a bag. Opening it, Ikkaku found the contents to be implements he had never seen before. Metal bars that looked like tent stakes, tightly wound coils of translucent material that could not be labeled as wire, twine or rope, small squares of a green substance with the consistency of chalk.

It was all a mystery to Ikkaku. He picked up the bag and headed back in what he thought was the right direction for Squad Six. He had become so disoriented in his pursuit that he really had no idea where he was going. After wandering without success for nearly thirty minutes, he availed himself of some loitering Shinigami, only to discover that he had drifted into the area around Squad Two, a place he definitely did not want to be.

Ikkaku did not know much about the Second Squad, only that its captain had been one of those to disappear, although it was said that she had defected to the world of the living with the traitorous former captain of Squad Twelve and the equally heinous head of the Kido Corps.

A new captain was in place, reviled as being unforgiving, cold-hearted, and bitter. Ikkaku could not remember her name, and that was not his main concern at the moment. He needed to turn over the bag and impart what little information he had to give regarding his pursuit. He considered reporting to Squad Two, given that one of its functions was to act as a sort of police force, a local militia. But then he thought better of it.

The best thing for him to do was return to the scene and report to whoever was in charge of the investigation. Besides, he needed to find Yumichika and make sure he was okay.

Now, if only he could find his way back . . .

* * *

"I told you, I was walking back to the Squad Eleven barracks from eating dinner, and then the explosion happened." Yumichika purposefully used a heightened tone of exasperation to bring across the point that he was growing frustrated with an inquiry that was a complete waste of time.

"Then why were you running in the opposite direction? Everyone else was running towards the explosion, and you were running away," asked the Shinigami who was conducting the interrogation, although interrogation was perhaps too strong a word.

"I was following my friend. He had headed off that way. He must have seen something and decided to pursue," Yumichika replied. It was not his first time giving the explanation.

"You say you're in Squad Eleven, Fifth Seat. I've never seen you before," the woman asked, leaning close and regarding him with a scrutinous eye. "And you stick out like a sore thumb. I'd remember seeing you."

Yumichika stifled a groan. "Are you listening to me? I already told you that I only joined three weeks ago—"

"I wouldn't take that tone, if I were you," the woman warned. "You were apprehended on Squad Six grounds, running away from an explosion. Being new to the Gotei Thirteen doesn't somehow absolve you of guilt."

"Send word to his captain to come here." The voice was deep, a man's low and rolling bass; and it came from the shadows across the room in which Yumichika was sitting.

The female Shinigami turned towards the darkness. "Sir? Are you—are you sure you want Kenpachi Zaraki stepping foot within these walls?"

"Do as I say, Patir." The man stepped out into the dull light. He was an older man, tall and distinguished in appearance, holding himself with almost regal authority. His long gray hair was swept back, and a thick graying mustache gave him the look of wisdom. He was wearing a captain's haori, and around his neck was a scarf of light blue silk.

"Yes, Captain Kuchiki," Patir replied. She quickly dispatched an underling to carry out the task.

Captain Genrei Kuchiki stepped forward and regarded Yumichika with unreadable eyes the color of slate.

Yumichika looked back at him, unmoved.

"You said you were going after your friend," the captain stated. "Who is your friend?"

"Ikkaku Madarame," Yumichika replied. "He's Squad Eleven Third Seat."

"I thought Himieal was third seat."

"He was," Yumichika said. "Until Ikkaku defeated him. We both joined the squad at the same time."

Captain Kuchiki looked at Yumichika for a long, appraising moment. At last, he said in a languid voice, "It's amazing what goes on in the other squads that I don't even hear about. Of course, nothing surprises me about Zaraki's squad. He's a demon leading a horde of heathens." A perplexed expression crossed his face. "Three weeks, you say? I don't imagine you'll last much longer in that hornets' nest." With that, he turned dismissively and walked to the far side of the room to converse with several other Shinigami gathered there.

Less than a minute later, a young boy, barely into his teenage years, came bursting into the room, accompanied by two more Shinigami.

"Grandfather!"

The captain appeared only mildly surprised. "Byakuya, what are you doing here?"

"I heard there was an explosion near the Squad 6 barracks, and I wanted to make sure you were alright," the boy said anxiously, crossing the room in six strides.

"As you can see, I'm fine," Captain Kuchiki replied. "So is everyone else. No one was hurt."

"What happened? What caused the explosion?" the boy, Byakuya, asked.

"That's what we're in the process of finding out," the captain replied, adding gently, "But this is no place for you to be right now. We're conducting an investigation."

With those words, Byakuy's eyes went to the only man in the room who was sitting. "Did he do it?"

"We don't know," Captain Kuchiki replied.

As the captain answered, Yumichika scowled in something close to outrage. "Are you going to invite a little boy to take part in my inquisition now?"

Captain Kuchiki was in front of him in an instant, bearing down on him with baleful eyes. "You need to remember your place. You are speaking of my grandson and heir to the Kuchiki Noble House. The day will soon come when he will far surpass you in rank within the Gotei Thirteen. He already is beyond you in every other way that counts."

Yumichika felt his jaw working. Oh, how he wanted to point out the one area where this little brat could never surpass him . . .

"Except in beauty."

Yumichika turned to see Ikkaku standing in the doorway, flanked by two more Shinigami.

"Ikkaku!"

"And manners," Ikkaku went on, yanking away from the light hold the guards had on him. "But I can see he's learning his bad manners from you, grand-pa."

At this, Patir drew her weapon and took up a fighting stance. "Who are you? And how dare you speak to the captain that way?!" She looked at the guards with fire in her eyes. "Why did you let him in here?"

Genrei put out his arm, an unspoken command for her to stand down.

"This is your friend?" he asked, speaking to Yumichika.

"Yes, and Third Seat of Squad Eleven—"

"Yes, I know. You told me." Captain Kuchiki turned his gaze to Ikkaku. "You will address me as Captain Kuchiki."

"Okay," Ikkaku conceded in an unconcerned voice, "And if you want to know what I have to tell you, you'll stop treating my friend, who also happens to be a seated officer, like he's a criminal."

"We are simply trying to gather information," Genrei answered, his entire manner infuriatingly placid and cool. "Fifth Seat Ayasegawa was seen running away from the scene—"

"I was running after you, Ikkaku," Yumichika interrupted. "But they stopped me. Where were you going?"

Ikkaku didn't answer right away. He looked from Yumcihika to Captain Kuchiki. If he were going to divulge what he'd seen, it would be only after this arrogantly superior captain showed some remorse for his treatment of Yumichika.

Ginrei waited patiently for the answer, and when none was forthcoming, he said, "Aren't you going to answer your friend's question?"

"I will after you apologize to him," Ikkaku replied.

Yumichika was stunned, but in a way that brought a subtle grin to his lips. Here they were, a little less than three weeks into being Shinigami, and they were already showing themselves to be disrespectful, incourteous hellions.

And it felt good. Amazingly good. Wonderful!

Maybe being in Squad Eleven wouldn't be so bad, after all. It was almost a permission slip to behave in whatever way they pleased.

Yumichika looked up at the vaunted Squad Six captain, and a gleam of mischief twinkled in his eye. "I'm waiting," he said in a musical voice.

But before any apology or outraged retort could be spoken, Lieutenant Kusajishi appeared from nowhere.

"Hay-ya!" She sang out a greeting, her smile so broad that it seemed wider than her small, round face. "Kenny sent me to get you two!" And in the blink of an eye, she had Ikkaku by an ear and Yumichika by the back of his obi, and they were gone in a flashstep that rivaled the speed of light.

Patir was on the verge of pursuit, but Genrei stopped her. "Let them go."

"But Captain—"

"They had nothing to do with the explosion," he went on. "I could sense that much. Still, the Third Seat has some information. I will be paying a visit to Squad Eleven later on tonight, unless the captain commander calls an emergency meeting."

"Do you think that's likely? Patir asked.

"An explosion within the Gotei Thirteen garrison, at the forge . . . absolutely. I expect a summons to a captains' meeting within the hour."

"Grand-father! You can't let them get away!" Byakuya insisted. "Not if they know something."

Ginrei placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. "Byakuya, return home. I will send an escort with you." He spoke down the long length of his regal nose. "I am disappointed in you for running over here when there could have been danger involved. And I will have a serious discussion with the house guard. You should never have managed to get past them."

Byakuya hid his prideful grin with a forced look of contrived remorse. "I've been improving in my training," he said. "You don't really believe they could stop me, do you, grandfather?"

Genrei did not answer but to repeat his command, "Go home and do not venture out anymore tonight."

Byakuya, determined to be the obedient heir of the Kuchiki clan, nodded curtly. "Yes, grandfather."

* * *

_Bwump! Thwump!_

Ikkaku raised his head and looked up from where he had been dumped like so much rubbish on the floor. Beside him, Yumichika was sitting up slowly, the expression on his face as confused as the one on Ikkaku's. They were in Squad Eleven headquarters, in what looked like it should be the captain's office, except it had the appearance of never having been used. And there was no captain present.

Lieutenant Kusajishi sat perched on the edge of the pristine and empty desk.

"Lieu-Lieutenant . . . what happened?" Ikkaku asked. "A second ago, we were all the way over in Squad Six—"

"Kenny sent me to get you, silly!" came the blithe reply. "So, I brought you back."

"But how? I mean, we were _just_ there. No one can move that fast," Ikkaku insisted.

"I can!" the lieutenant replied, and a tiny close-lipped chuckle followed.

"But—but—"

"Flashstep, Baldy! You're gonna hafta learn, you know!"

Ikkaku looked at Yumichika. "Is that the thing you do?"

Yumichika nodded once. "But not like that. That—we got all the way here in . . . it couldn't have been even a second." He looked at the lieutenant. "And how could you carry us? Or pull us? Or drag us? Lieutenant, you're a little girl."

A glee-filled laugh was her only response, then she began bouncing up and down. "Ken-chan! Ken-chan!"

Both Ikkaku and Yumichika felt it at the same time – the looming reiatsu—only a moment before the door swung open and Zaraki strode in. He walked over to the desk, looked at it and sat down on top instead of in the chair.

"Well, well, well, trouble-makers already," he scoffed in his deep, rumbling voice. "Didn't take you two long to get into the thick of things, did it?"

"Captain, please let us explain—" Yumichika began, but Zaraki cut him off.

"I'll let you know when I need you to interrupt me," he said in such a tone that it shut Yumichika down immediately. A short pause followed. "So, how does it end up that the captain of Squad Six feels the need to summon me to his barracks?"

Ikkaku and Yumichika exchanged glances, not sure if they were expected to answer.

"Well, speak up!" Zaraki demanded.

Both of them began talking at once in excited voices.

Zaraki let them go on for several seconds before bellowing, "That's enough! One at a time!" He looked at Yumichika. "You, since you seem to like talking so much. What happened?"

"We were coming back from dinner and as we passed the Squad Six area, there was an explosion. It knocked me down, but when I got up, I saw Ikkaku running off through Squad Six's area. I tried to go after him, but some Soul Reapers stopped me. They held me for questioning and I told them in was in Squad Eleven. That's when their captain sent someone to get you," Yumichika said in a rush.

Zaraki's gaze shifted to Ikkaku. "Now you."

"After the explosion, as I was getting up, I saw someone, a shadow, in the top of a tree on the other side of wall around Squad Six. So, I went after him. He took off across the garden before anyone had come out and seen the damage yet, so no one noticed him but me. I was starting to gain on him, then he dropped this and I wasn't fast enough to keep up." Ikkaku held up the bag.

"What's this?" Captain Zaraki took the bag and looked inside. "More explosive devices? Eh, we'll give to Squad Twelve and let them figure it out."

Ikkaku went on. "After I lost track of the guy, I went back to make a report at the scene. When I got there, I tried to find Yumichika." He gave a sheepish sideways glance. "I wanted to make sure he was okay. I guess I got carried away in the excitement and took off before making sure he wasn't injured."

Yumichika simpered but was silent.

"So, I told a couple guys who were guarding the scene who I was and that I had something to report to whoever was in charge. They took me to some building, and that's where their captain was questioning Yumichika. Next thing I knew, the lieutenant showed up and . . . here we are," Ikkaku finished.

A long silence brought the room to a tense pinnacle, then Zaraki burst out laughing.

"Oh, this is perfect! Imagine that old geezer thinking he could summon me like I'm one of his underlings! Haah! This is too good to be true!"

Once again, Yumichika and Ikkaku exchanged perplexed glances.

"What, did he think you two were responsible for the explosion?!" he bellowed.

"He was suspicious," Yumichika replied. "And there was a woman there, too. She definitely thought I had something to do with it."

"That was probably 4th Seat Myususijash. A real pain in the ass," Zaraki snarled, but even so, he was still in good humor. "Maybe Captain Kuchiki will decide to pay me a visit here. Sure as hell I'm not going over to see him."

"But captain, shouldn't I tell someone about what I saw? And what about the bag?" Ikkaku asked.

"I said we'll give the bag to Squad Twelve. If anyone wants to come ask you questions, fine. Let 'em come here. Damn, who wouldn't want to blow up Squad Six?"

"Kenny! Kenny! That's not nice!"

"When have I ever cared about being nice?" Zaraki replied, then he burst into crazed laughter again. "Maybe next time, the culprit will try to blow up something in Squad Eleven, and I'll get to meet him face-to-face. Now, that might be fun."

"Uh, captain?" Yumichika put forth tepidly. "The explosion wasn't exactly in the Squad Six barracks. It was in a building just outside their walls."

"What was in the building?" Zaraki asked.

"I'm not sure. I didn't get a chance to look," Yumichika replied.

Zaraki looked at his lieutenant, and for a moment he was serious. "Yachiru, go find out what was in the building."

Once the lieutenant had departed, Zaraki looked back at his two newest officers. "I can see you're both going to fit in just fine here. But if you ever do something again that interrupts my evening soak, I'm going to tear you both apart, shred by shred by shred."

"Yes, Captain," they both replied.

At that moment, a hell butterfly arrived.

Its message?

Captains' meeting immediately.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Dear Reader, Here is my promised short chapter! It may end up being the only one. But it's a nice, quiet chapter to start introducing other characters from the manga and set the stage for upcoming events. I use the romanization Soifon instead of Sui Feng - simply because it's faster to type! Hope you enjoy. Peace, TK**_

* * *

Chapter 2 The Early Days

"_Listen to the tide slowly turning,  
__Wash all our heartaches away.  
__We're part of the fire that is burning,  
__And from the ashes, we can build another day."_

_The Story in Your Eyes  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

"Would you stop pacing? You're driving me nuts."

Yumichika stopped long enough to cast a doleful eye in Ikkaku's direction. "I'm worried about what's going to happen." He resumed pacing.

"Worried? Why? We didn't do anything."

"Just the way Captain Kuchiki and his lieutenant acted . . . they were so condescending and . . . arrogant and superior," Yumichika replied. "And I'm sure they think we're the guilty parties."

"They would have come after us by now if they really thought it was us," Ikkaku corrected. "Besides, Captain Zaraki didn't seem too concerned about it. He's the only one we have to worry about."

The mention of Zaraki shifted Yumichika's thoughts to the captains' meeting that was going on at that very minute.

Their captain had left twenty minutes ago to answer the summons. He'd ordered the two of them to stay in his office until he returned.

Left alone to stew in his own thoughts, Yumichika had immediately started to imagine the worst. They would be determined guilty without even an investigation and cast into prison. Or they would be subjected to brutal interrogations. Or they would simply be dismissed from the Gotei 13 and cast out of the Seireitei. Although a dismissal would not have upset Yumichika that much, he knew it would be devastating to Ikkaku and could result in the sundering of their friendship.

"I hope you're right," Yumichika said, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "Because I didn't like the feel I was getting from the members of Squad Six."

"You're way more sensitive to that stuff than I am," Ikkaku replied. "I could tell they were pissed off, but I mean, who cares? What a bunch of stuffed shirts. They're so blind they didn't even see the guy running away."

Yumichika stopped pacing again and faced Ikkaku. "So, what did you see?"

Ikkaku was halfway through his explanation when Lieutenant Kusajishi showed up.

"They want you at the captains' meeting, Baldy," she announced.

Yumichika looked on in surprise. "I thought Captain Zaraki sent you to find out what was in the building that got blown up—"

"I did!" She blinked a smile, then snagged Ikkaku's sleeve. "Let's go!"

They were gone in the blink of an eye.

Yumichika went to the window and looked outside where the moon was starting on its downward arc and casting its light upon the garden. The sky was crystal clear. He could feel the cold air against the window pane. The night was going to give way to a beautiful day. He only wondered if he would get to enjoy it.

* * *

Ikkaku had never been one to be easily impressed by other people.

Hakama. Yumichika.

That was where the list ended. He might have respected and admired several others, Kaekae, Yenset, Luckett; but to be impressed was greater than respect and admiration, and that distinction was limited to only two.

Until the moment he entered Squad One's meeting hall.

All twelve of the lower captains were present, arrayed in two columns, facing each other and forming a neat aisle from the doorway up to the captain commander. The spirit energy in the hall was stifling. Ikkaku could only wonder what it would have been like had these powerful Shinigami not had the dampers on their reiatsu. The very air in the room felt like it was tingling.

Ikkaku looked from side to side as he strode forward into the hall, Lieutenant Kusajishi a step ahead of him. He recognized Captain Kurotsuchi; he was hard to miss, after all. He also recognized Captain Kuchiki. His own captain stood on the right in between two captains Ikkaku did not know . As Ikkaku passed Captain Zaraki, Yachiru peeled off and went to join him, climbing to her spot on his shoulder.

"Come forward," the captain commander ordered.

Ikkaku approached, and for the first time, he actually felt intimidated in someone else's presence.

Captain Commander Genryusai Yamamoto had been the commanding officer of the Gotei 13 for over nine hundred years. He qualified for the moniker of "ancient", and yet he was an imposing, awe-inspiring figure. Ikkaku had heard him spoken of in towering, grandiose terms, but to be in his presence was to experience something far beyond what any words could convey. The man was tall and broad – a figure of immense physical strength even in advanced years. He was bald, the crown of his head sporting an X-shaped scar, the obvious remnant of an injury taken in battle. Beneath long, trailing brows of stark white, his eyes were narrow and dark, but Ikkaku could not quite discern their color. He likewise wore a white beard, long and well-groomed, bound neatly with a criss-crossed leather strand running its length. He stood slightly hunched with a wooden walking stalk upon which he leaned but which seemed more like a prop than of actual use. Still, Ikkaku knew better. He'd already been told that the walking stick was, in fact, the most powerful zanpakuto ever known to Soul Society. It went by the name of Ryujin Jakka and had as the basis of its power, the devouring might of fire. In a strange way, it seemed both fitting and incongruous with the imperturbable manner of its master.

"You were there when the explosion took place?"

Ikkaku almost jumped. Yamamoto's voice was deep and growling, filling the room with a rolling boom and unquestionable authority.

"Yes, Sir," Ikkaku replied, feeling incredibly insignificant standing there before the most powerful man in the Gotei 13. While others might have felt important being summoned to such a stand, the same could not be said for Ikkaku. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to finish his business and depart back to the coarse comfort of the Squad Eleven area.

"Tell me what you saw."

"Third Seat Ayasegawa and I had gone to dinner over by Squad Six. We were walking back, and there was an explosion behind us. It was violent enough that we both fell to the ground. When we got up, I saw a figure – I don't know if was a man or a woman, but it was a human – jumping out of a tree on the other side of the Squad Six wall. I jumped over the wall and chased him. I was catching up, because he was carrying a sack. But when he dropped it, he was able to outrun me. I brought the bag back to Squad Six, and I was going to tell them what I had seen. When I got there, there were two guards who took me to see the Squad Six captain." He cleared his throat. "But before I could tell them anything, Lieutenant Kusajishi showed up and took us back to the squad." He conveniently left out his inappropriate mouthiness to the captain of Squad Six.

"Where is the bag the enemy was carrying?" Yamamoto asked.

"It's still back at the squad," Zaraki answered. "We were going to give it to Squad Twelve. There were explosives inside."

"Who is guarding it?"

Zaraki shrugged. "Ayasegawa?"

Lieutenant Kusajishi nodded fervently.

Yamamoto seemed disgusted that Zaraki would leave evidence – and dangerous evidence – in the possession of a lowly fifth seat. "Send your lieutenant back to take the bag over to Squad Twelve."

"Yachiru."

She departed immediately.

"Did Fifth Seat Ayasegawa see anything?" Yamamoto asked.

"No," Ikkaku replied. "He was—"

"He was being held by my lieutenant," Captain Kuchiki finished the sentence. "No one recognized him, and they saw him running away from the explosion, so they apprehended him for questioning."

"He was running after me," Ikkaku offered.

"We concluded that neither of them were the perpetrator," Kuchiki went on, "It seemed to be a well-planned, professional job, and well . . . the two we apprehended couldn't have done it. So, when the Eleventh Squad lieutenant took them, we let them go."

"A well-planned job?" Zaraki scoffed, his disdain for the Sixth Squad captain coming through all too clearly. "Seems to me they hit the wrong target. And just by a few meters."

Genrei Kuchiki bristled.

Yamamoto rapped his walking stick against the floor. "Enough!"

The captain commander was silent for a moment, then he asked, "Captain Soifon, did you receive any reports of a stranger being seen fleeing from the area?"

"No, Sir. I already have patrols out looking for anything suspicious," came the crisp reply, spoken in a no-nonsense tone that perfectly represented everything the Squad Two captain was about. In her role as commander of the stealth force and primary enforcer of the law within the Gotei 13, she comported herself with a serious and uncompromising devotion to duty – sometimes to the chagrin of her fellow captains who often saw her as grim and short-fused.

Ikkaku had heard a very little scuttlebutt about her: that she was secretly nursing an invisible wound to her soul – something to do with the previous Squad Two captain's unexpected departure. But Ikkaku had never really been interested. He wasn't given to gossip, and the truth was that he tended to tune out conversations that turned towards things that bored him. Squad Two bored him, and as such, he really didn't know much about the petite, severe woman who now had the floor.

He looked at her as she spoke of her squad's actions in sealing off the area and checking for more possible explosives; examining the scene; looking for anyone who might have been a witness. But again, he found himself not really listening to her. He was taking in her appearance, this being the first time he had seen her. And he found her absolutely unattractive. She had pale skin and black hair, cut short in the back and hanging down both sides of her face in braids interlaced with white weave. There was nothing delicate or feminine about her, and Ikkaku found himself musing that Yumichika was far more beautiful than she was.

Yumichika.

He wished Yumichika were here with him. That would make this gathering less intimidating.

Yamamoto's voice recalled his attention.

"Captain Kuchiki, I am giving Squad Six the lead on the investigation. Work with Squads Two and Twelve. That forge was the only one in the Seireitei to make zanpakuto." Yamamoto paused. "Captain Komamura, I leave you to the task of procuring zanpakuto to compensate for those we will lose until the forge is reopened. I will have Lieutenant Sasakibe oversee the reconstruction of the forge once the investigation is complete. I will have a report from each of you daily after first formation. The rest of you, remain vigilant. Dismissed."

So ended Ikkaku's first encounter with the assembled seats of power in the Gotei 13.

* * *

Zaraki's reiatsu.

Yumichika stood up quickly. He'd been sitting in the chair behind the captain's desk; but he didn't want to be caught in it – even if his captain never did use it.

Captain Zaraki entered with his lieutenant clinging to his back and peering over his shoulder. Ikkaku came in right behind them.

"You're dismissed," Zaraki said indifferently.

"Dismissed?" Yumichika was stunned. "But what about the explosion?"

Zaraki shrugged. "It's not our business. You're both dismissed." This time, his voice conveyed the unmistakable message that it was time to depart.

Ikkaku gave Yumichika a subtle jerk of the head, and they left together.

Yumichika waited until they were a discreet distance away.

"What happened at the captains' meeting?"

"Not much," Ikkaku replied. "Captain Commander Yamamoto ordered an investigation. Sixth Squad has the lead. Second and Twelfth Squads were ordered to assist. The rest of us are to continue with business as usual."

"What did they say about what you told them?"

"Nothing."

"Do they think we had anything to do with it?" Yumichika pressed.

"No," Ikkaku answered. "Even Captain Kuchiki said so. He didn't seem to think we were smart enough to pull off something like that."

Yumichika faltered. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not."

"It wasn't meant as one, believe me," Ikkaku grimaced, but then a smile crossed his face. "That's when Captain Zaraki said the assailant missed the real target only by a few meters." He began to laugh. "I don't think we're going to be welcome in the Sixth Squad area for a long time, but that suits me."

"Me, too." Yumichika agreed, then after a pause, "What was the building that got blown up?"

"One of the metal forges."

"Metal forge?"

Ikkaku nodded. "The only one in the Gotei 13 grounds that makes zanpakuto."

"I didn't even know they made zanpakuto here," Yumichika stated with a raised brow.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't call them zanpakuto," Ikkaku corrected. "They're just swords until they connect with a Shinigami. Still, I guess it's a profession to make them. Didn't you say that's how you found out about Zaraki? From a swordsmith who made zanpakuto?"

"Yes." Yumichika was thoughtful. "I always thought zanpakuto arose from their wielder's spirit. I never really thought they were made. I mean, Fuji Kujaku just appeared one day. I had been in communication with him for months in my inner world, and then he . . . just showed up one morning in sword form."

"I'm sure there's more than one way for a zanpakuto to come into existence," Ikkaku put forth. "I mean, think of all the Asauchi," he added, referring to the nameless zanpakuto that belonged to the rank and file of the Shinigami. "There's no way they can all come forth from such weak spirits. That's probably what the forge does: creates them and then some of them will become zanpakuto, if they get a powerful enough wielder."

Yumichika shook his head. "It's too complicated for me. I have my hands full dealing with just my own zanpakuto." They crossed into the officers' quarter garden. "Why would someone want to blow up the forge?"

"An enemy always wants to take away its opponent's means of producing weapons," Ikkaku said. "That's basic wartime strategy."

"We're not at war," Yumichika pointed out.

"Maybe not," Ikkaku conceded. "But it seems that someone is at war with us."

* * *

"Waaake uu-upp!"

Ikkaku's eyes shot open as the cover was yanked from his body. An instant later, he was staring into Lieutenant Kusajishi's large, brown eyes.

"Up, up, up!" She sounded like she was leading a cheer. "You'd better hurry or I'll tell Kenny!"

"Wh-what's going on?" Ikkaku asked, sitting up, rubbing his arm over his eyes.

"Kenny says you need to learn shunpou," she announced, taking the opportunity to bounce up and down on the futon, but it wasn't very springy.

"Learn what?"

"Shunpou! Flashstep!" She leaned close again – so close Ikkaku saw her only as blur. "You gotta get faster! At least as fast as Wierdo."

"But I—it's Saturday, Lieutenant," Ikkaku protested in a mealy voice.

"Sooo? That just makes it more fun!" She stepped away and looked at him for a moment, struck by a realization for the first time. She spoke as if she were giving a book report. "Baldy sleeps with no clothes on."

"What?! I do so have clothes on!" Ikkaku bellowed. "What do you call this?!" He pulled at the waist of his fundoshi. "Are you trying to get me in trouble?!"

She only laughed then ordered excitedly, "Get dressed! We're going outside the Seireitei, and I want to be back before noon!"

Ikkaku got to his feet and reached over for his uniform which was lying precisely where he had left it on the floor after returning from the captains' meeting. If Yumichika had seen it lying there, getting crumpled, he would have delivered a browbeating.

"Where's Yumichika?"

"He's not coming! It's just us."

Ikkaku was taken aback for a moment. He felt odd going anywhere alone with the lieutenant, a little girl. He didn't know how to act around children; and even though she was his superior in rank, he could not quite bring himself to accept her as his superior in ability, wisdom, or intellect.

"Don't you think it'd be better if he came with us?" he asked, pulling on his uniform.

"Nope!" With that, she had him by the arm and they were gone.

* * *

The room still smelled like incense, but the burners were not to be seen. It was only the lingering aroma that permeated the rich silks and satins, the luxuriant brocades, and the gossamer sheers that hung like spider webs over the bed.

The incense had always been burning.

Since the first day.

Since the first day his master had come to this room, the place of entry into this world, a space of intimate encounters.

The incense had always been burning, but not anymore.

Ruri'iro Kujaku sunk his fingers into the thick folds of damask coverlet on the bed and brought the fabric to his face, breathing in the faded aroma of the burnt out spices.

And the unmistakable scent of his master.

It had been six weeks since Ruri'iro Kujaku had last seen Yumichika. Six weeks of the most painful isolation Ruri'iro Kujaku had ever known. It was true that he had been separated from Yumichika for much longer periods than this, but the circumstances of this situation were much more grievous than on previous occasions.

The memory of what Yumichika had done to him remained in his mind as if it had only happened yesterday, and the emotions associated with that memory were as powerful as they had been in the moment.

Fear, hurt, and anger. They were at war with other inside the kujaku's head, occasionally reaching down, each to try and entice his heart to join the battle on one side or the other. He had fought against allowing his emotions to ensnare the only part of him where love still resided; for despite all that had happened, he still had love for Yumichika, and that love needed to be protected. He did not want the one who had given him life to be forever alienated from him because he had welcomed and fostered a cold heart. He must always make sure that his heart stayed open. Even if his master's heart were to turn to stone, Ruri'iro Kujaku could not allow the same to happen to his own.

And yet, he knew he was losing the battle. He could not protect his heart from the war raging inside him; and with each passing day, it was clear the anger was overtaking the fear. The hurt was giving way in the face of a burgeoning desire to . . .

. . . to what?

To hate? No, it couldn't be that he wanted to hate his master. No zanpakuto should ever hate its master. Hoozukimaru had taught him that much. And hatred was such an ugly emotion.

To get revenge for what Yumichika had done to him? Not just for trapping him in the cage, but for the years of concealing him and hiding his true nature, stifling his power. No, Ruri'iro Kujaku could not even conceive of what such a revenge would look like or even imagine that he could feel satisfied after exacting it.

What could it be that was easing the sense of hurt, smoothing over the pain of loss?

A trickle. A faint echo somewhere inside him was making use of his anger to assuage all the other emotions and replace them with . . .

"What?" Ruri'iro asked himself, whispering into the thick fabric filling his hands. "What is this yearning?"

* * *

Yumichika regarded his image in the mirror. He still wasn't used to the reflection looking back at him. The exotic appearance he had so loved was gone. He wasn't sure what his look was now. It defied explanation or categorization. Still, it was tolerable. It could have been worse – he could have ended up with a shaved head like Ikkaku; so he considered himself fortunate that the lieutenant had intervened. He certainly hadn't felt that way yesterday, but he did now.

He'd slept late, given the long night. It was now close to nine in the morning, making him feel as if he'd slept half the day away. He had some things he wanted to take care of that morning, and he was anxious to get underway. Heeding Ikkaku's admonitions about "fitting in", he put on his uniform instead of opting for his own clothes. He was about to leave for Ikkaku's room when he felt something he hadn't felt in many weeks.

Instead of leaving, he dropped immediately to his knees and closed his eyes.

Instantly, he was in the maroon room.

There before him, in the middle of the bed, stood Ruri'iro Kujaku.

The reikon whirled towards him, as if surprised by his arrival. He was holding a length of the coverlet in his hands; but upon seeing his master, he dropped the material, straightened up to his full height and stared dispassionately at him.

Yumichika could sense the hostility more than he could see it through the swirling colors, but he was not dissuaded. This was the first time he'd sensed Ruri'iro Kujaku's presence in the maroon room in weeks, and he had to take advantage of it.

"I knew you were here," he began, keeping his voice and manner neutral.

Ruri'iro said nothing. His colors were static, impenetrable.

"I haven't been able to sense your presence here for a long time," Yumichika went on. "I could only barely feel your reiatsu, except when I've released you."

And still, he was met with silence.

"I've come here at least a dozen times," he said. "And you never came to me. I figured you were . . . you were hiding on the other side of the sea, where I couldn't reach you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku spoke for the first time, and the sound of his voice seemed almost alien to Yumichika. "It was the only place I could get away from you." He paused, "And even then, I can't escape you when you command me to release."

"Why do you want to get away from me?" Yumichika asked. "I've told you I'm sorry about what happened and that I won't let it happen again. How long are you going to act like this?"

"Maybe forever," came the flippant answer.

"You can't want us to go on like this, can you?" Yumichika challenged.

"I will be there when you need me, master," Ruri'iro said, his voice sounding like a recitation. "I will never refuse to release at your command – no matter what you call me." He waited a moment to let those last words sink in. "I will be available to lend you my power when needed. Apparently, that's what a zanpakuto is supposed to do. I'll do it."

"Stop acting like this," Yumichika demanded. "I'm a Shinigami now. Do you realize that? I can't do this on my own."

"You're not on your own. You have Madarame."

Yumichika rubbed his forehead. "Ruri'iro Kujaku . . . "

"I'm surprised you remember my name. The last dozen or so releases have all been that _other_ name," Ruri'iro jabbed.

Yumichika let the remark go. "I don't want it to be this way," he pressed.

Ruri'iro Kujaku narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to one side. "How do you want it to be, master?" His voice had a biting edge to it that suddenly made Yumichika a small bit fearful. He had not forgotten that he was dealing with an incredibly powerful and mercurial being; and despite Ruri'iro's protestations to the contrary, Yumichika was not sure he would be able to contain him again if he decided to be disobedient.

"I want us to work together," Yumichika explained. "I don't want you to hide from me. I want you to keep teaching me how to use our power. I want—I want—" He faltered. "I want to come here and . . . know that I can feel your touch and lie beside you."

After only the briefest of hesitations, Ruri'iro Kujaku replied, "I don't want any of that."

His words hit Yumichika like ice water, turning the blood in his veins cold.

"I'll tell you want I want," the azure peacock continued, and at that moment he knew what it was that he'd been searching for. He knew what was driving out the hurt and taking its place. "I want to be free of you."

Yumichika was too shocked to speak, and this thrilled Ruri'iro Kujaku even more. "I want to leave you and come back only when I so desire. I want to be able to do as I please, go into the outside world when I want to, prevent you from coming in here . . . I want to have an existence that doesn't depend on you. I want the freedom to show all of creation how beautiful I am, how powerful I am." His own rhetoric moved him, but he brought it crashing down at Yumichika's feet with a deliberately brutal accusation. "But none of that will ever happen. It will never happen because of you. You are the one being with the power to hold me back, and you are keeping me imprisoned here on purpose."

"That—that's not true," Yumichika stammered.

"Oh, yes, it is. Of course you deny it, but it's true no matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise," Ruri'iro replied with a careless flick of his wrist as he turned away in preparation to depart.

Yumichika put a hand on his arm. "Don't leave."

Ruri'iro Kujaku flinched away from his master's touch. "I don't feel like staying."

"I need you – more now than ever! I need your help or I'm never going to make it as a Shinigami!" Yumichika insisted.

"I told you I'll be there when you call on me—"

"I'm not talking about that!" Yumichika cut him off. "I'm talking about the other skills I need to learn – kido and bakudou. I need to get better at shunpou. I have to become a better swordsman and—"

"I'm sure there are others who can teach you those things," Ruri'iro shrugged.

"But there's no one who can—" Yumichika stopped abruptly.

Ruri'iro turned back to face him, a faint glimmer of hope sparking deep inside him. "Who can what?"

Yumichika sighed. He looked away for a moment, then his gaze returned to Ruri'iro Kujaku. "Who can teach me all the things you can."

The reikon's colors surged angrily. Those were not the words he wanted to hear. His master mightaswell have simply called him a useful tool for the advancement of his skills. There was not a jot of affection or compassion in his motives. But how could there have been? Ruri'iro Kujaku already knew that his master did not love him. He stormed to the edge of the bed.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku, stop!" Yumichika demanded.

Ruri'iro recognized the tone of voice, and he froze. He could not bear being caged again.

Behind him, Yumichika was trembling. He couldn't do this. He couldn't let himself get so angry again that he hurt his zanpakuto. He wanted to restore their relationship, not sever it completely. He drew in a deep, quavering breath.

"Go," he conceded.

Ruri'iro did not look back before leaving. Once outside the boundaries of the maroon room, he headed for his only known sanctuary across the sea.

* * *

Ikkaku dropped into a seated slump, puffing out a loud sigh as he did so.

Lieutenant Kusajishi stood in front of him. "You really stink!"

"You don't have to rub it in, Lieutenant," Ikkaku snorted. "I'm trying my best."

Yachiru made a face. "I don't believe that."

"It's true."

"I think you're just lazy. Like Kenny."

Ikkaku reacted with raised eyebrows. "Lieutenant! You can't call the captain lazy!"

"Yes, I can. I had to force him to learn shunpou, just like with you. Yama-jii had to make him learn kendo!" she blurted out, this last statement referring to the art of swordsmanship. "And he still hasn't learned kido and refuses to!"

"Good. Kido is a coward's way of fighting," Ikkaku said, almost spitting out the words.

The lieutenant shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. "Kenny doesn't like it. He thinks a fight should be a fight. All muscle and blood and sword and skin."

Ikkaku smiled. Her words were further confirmation of the rightness of his decision to join Zaraki's squad. "I couldn't agree more."

"But he can do shunpou," Yachiru pointed out. "He's not as good at it as I am—" she giggled, "—nobody is—but he can do it. You have to learn. If I could teach him, I can teach you."

"We've been at it for hours. I thought you wanted to be back by noon," Ikkaku reminded her.

"It's not noon yet," she replied. "And it hasn't been that long! It just feels like it to you because you're so bad, Pachinko Head!"

"Pachinko Head?!" Ikkaku glared at her. With him sitting and her standing, they were at eye level, and Ikkaku could see the glee in her eye.

"I can keep calling you Baldy," she offered in a manner that was in stark contrast to her childish and innocent appearance.

Ikkaku knew he was not going to win. "You can call me whatever you want, Lieutenant."

"Good! Then get up and try again – Pachinko Head!"

Ikkaku drew in a deep breath, got to his feet, and prepared to give it another go.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Winter Light

_Hearts call, hearts fall, standing in the rain.  
__Who knows, life grows hollow and so vain.  
__Wandering in the winter light, the wicked and the sane  
__Bear witness to salvation, and life starts over again._

_Winter Light  
_Zbigniew Preisner

* * *

Two months passed.

Two months since the explosion. Two months with no leads and no progress towards finding the perpetrator.

Two months of continued training for Yumichika and Ikkaku, although the former was progressing with much greater alacrity than the latter.

Despite their unorthodox entry into the Gotei 13, they soon discovered that the four basic tenets of being a Shinigami were not to be overlooked. Or rather, three of the four were not to be overlooked.

Yumichika was only too happy to improve his shunpou, which fell under the element of Hoho – movement and speed methods. Lieutenant Kusajishi was an excellent teacher, although she did tend to laugh at his many mistakes. Still, even the lieutenant had to acknowledge that he had a natural affinity for Hoho, and Yumichika felt a sense of pride at his rapid advancement in the art.

The same could not be said for his mastery of Hakuda, the element of fighting using only one's body, a sort of martial arts skill. This was, by far, Yumichika's weakest area. And it was not his lack of brawn that caused the shortcoming, for he had the brains, the speed and the flexibility to be quite good at it. No, the fact was that Yumichika hated close-quarters combat, anything that required him to touch or be touched by hideous opponents. He'd had his fair share of ugly hands on his body over the years – sometimes by his will and sometimes not. But that was all behind him now, and he recoiled even at the thought of being forced to engage in a confrontation with ugliness. This fastidious condescension prevented him from progressing to a point where he could fare well even against attractive opponents.

He continued to build upon his swordsmanship, which in the Gotei 13, was called Zanjutsu. But while he made gains in the art, he often felt that the techniques he was being taught were not the best for his particular weapon. They were bloody and brutal methods, often dependent upon physical strength; and since Yumichika's physical strength was and always would be limited, he made up for his shortcoming with speed and agility – the same speed and agility he would not apply to Hakuda. Still, none of it really suited him, for it was not beautiful. Yet, he was determined to fit in, determined to remain by Ikkaku's side; and so he forced himself to learn and excel in the methods of Zanjutsu, for swordfighting was far preferable to hand-to-hand combat.

He learned only a limited degree of Bakudo, otherwise known as the art of the binding spells – and this he learned strictly on his own through personal study. Bakudo was a part of kido, and the one thing Yumichika had discovered right away was that kido was not accepted in the Eleventh. It seemed fitting that Ikkaku would have been attracted, unknowingly, to a squad that shunned kido and considered it cowardly, the recourse of weaklings. It was an unwritten but well-spoken rule that if a man wanted to be in the Eleventh, he would have to be able to fight using only physical-type zanpakuto and his bare hands. Anything else was the brunt of derision and scorn. Ruri'iro Kujaku would never be accepted here, and that could only intensify an already strained relationship between Yumichika and his weapon.

It was a sad set of circumstances, for Yumichika knew that he could be learning at a much faster rate, improving his skills more rapidly, if he could turn to Ruri'iro Kujaku. The truth was that no one was a better teacher than the reikon, but Yumichika could not go to him anymore. Ruri'iro Kujaku was still too angry to want to help him, and Yumichika could not take any chances of Ruri'iro's true nature being revealed.

All of which led Yumichika to frequent consideration of a new practice he'd been introduced to. It was called Jinzen, and it was the proper way for a Shinigami to communicate with his sword. It struck Yumichika as curious that he had never used the practice with Ruri'iro Kujaku.

The practice had all the appearance of being quite simple; yet, in actuality, it required a great deal of patience and dedication to acquire. The Shinigami would sit cross-legged with his sword across his lap and enter into meditation. The Shinigami then had to search out the inner world in which the zanpakuto resided, summon the weapon, and through sheer mental manipulation, bring their minds together as one. It was considered a dangerous practice for the unsupervised, but it was a necessary step towards mastering a zanpakuto. The subjugation of the weapon's spirit was a crucial element in obtaining the right kind of relationship between the two.

Yumichika often found himself wondering if things would have turned out differently had he been instructed from the beginning on the proper manner of interaction between a zanpakuto and its master. Perhaps Ruri'iro Kujaku would not have turned out so headstrong and self-centered. Perhaps he would have been more obedient and less possessive.

Yumichika frowned. It occurred to him that the entire situation with Ruri'iro Kujaku might be his own fault for engaging in the relationship without really knowing what he was doing. He had been so enraptured by the reikon's beauty, so inebriated with the sensual pleasure of his touch, that he could not have conceived at the time that there might be a danger in what he was doing. He'd been blissfully ignorant or willfully blind to the fact that he was dealing with an immense power that might need taming or that he himself might require guidance to tame it.

He also wondered it if were too late to adopt the proper practice. Ruri'iro Kujaku was likely to reject anything so formal and structured; but perhaps that structure and formality might force him to yield.

Force.

Ruri'iro Kujaku.

Yumichika was not ready to try and force anything upon the reikon given the current situation. And even if he were, he wasn't sure he had the power to do it. The Jinzen instruction he had received thus far had been informal, provided by other members of the squad, none of whom impressed him as really having mastered the practice themselves. Captain Zaraki never spoke of his zanpakuto. He never released it. He did not even address it by name. But then again, he was so powerful that Yumichika questioned whether he even needed a zanpakuto.

Still, this left Yumichika with a zeal to find out more about the practice from someone with the expertise to instruct him. The only way he could know if it would help with Ruri'iro Kujaku would be to try it, but he was absolutely unwilling to risk it without proper instruction. He might end up making things worse.

And yet, he'd not met anyone with whom he felt comfortable enough and whom he believed wise enough to provide him with proper instruction.

Ikkaku, on the other hand, had a whole different set of concerns.

His prowess with a sword might be unconventional and not very pretty, but it was effective. He had learned shunpou, though he was not very good at it.

But the main concern almost three months after joining the Gotei 13 was that he still had not had any communication with his zanpakuto, leading both him and Captain Zaraki to deduce that his current sword was not a zanpakuto at all. Of course, Zaraki was so pleased with Ikkaku's voracious appetite for battle and his unfettered ardor for the fight that he would have been willing to overlook the shortcoming. The only problem was that a Soul Reaper needed a zanpakuto to perform konsos. And even though the business of performing konsos meant nothing to Zaraki, it was a Soul Reaper's primary duty and not open to negotiation. A Soul Reaper must be able to perform konsos.

And so it was decided that Ikkaku would have to procure a new weapon.

Captain Komamura of Squad Seven had been in charge of bringing in vendors to provide the Gotei 13 with zanpakuto until the new forge could be completed. Several of them had already arrived, and Ikkaku had instructions from Captain Zaraki to pay a visit to one of them. It would be his top priority as soon as the squad returned from the mission they were about to set out on.

The Thirteen Court Guard Squads took turns patrolling the living world and patrolling the various quarters of Soul society. The missions into the lowest numbers were called wide patrols, and they lasted four weeks.

It was Squad Eleven's turn for a wide patrol starting the third week in December. They were headed for Regions 70-80 West, going to relieve Squad Ten.

It would be Ikkaku's and Yumichika's first active duty assignment, and both of them were excited. Ikkaku was hoping for some action and the chance to prove that he didn't really need a zanpakuto at all. Yumichika was merely relieved they had not been sent to the south, although he would have been happy to see Venla again.

And so, on a cold and wet December morning, Ikkaku and Yumichika set out with their squad, three hundred strong—on their first mission as Shinigami.

* * *

"They left to go on patrol this morning. I didn't catch all of it, but something about the lower numbers," Hoozukimaru offered, trying to find something—anything—to snap his companion out of his moroseness.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was aloof. "Good for them."

"It's a real mission, not just training," Hoozukimaru went on. "He may need you."

"So what if he does."

Hoozukimaru had had just about enough. His voice took on a chastising tone. "You can't let this go on. I just don't see why you can't swallow your pride, accept his apology, and move on."

Ruri'iro Kujaku sneered at the words. "I'm a peacock. Do you think I can just swallow my pride as if it means nothing? You know beauty means everything to me, and the way he's treated me isn't beautiful. Besides, I'll be there if he needs me. It's not as if I can disobey him."

Hoozukimaru laughed. "Can't disobey him? Even you know that's a lie."

Ruri'iro shrugged. "It's an exaggeration."

"Look," the dragon began, affecting a manner that fell somewhere between a lecture and a plea, "He's young. He died young. And from what you've told me, it doesn't sound like he's had many models of wisdom to look up to since coming to Soul Society. So he acts like a spoiled brat. You have a chance to change that, but how are you going to do that if you're acting like a spoiled brat, too?"

"I'm born of his soul. I can't help it if I act like him," came the petulant response.

"Oh, that's a bunch of crap," Hoozukimaru scolded. "I mean, yes, you were born of him and you're a lot like him, but you have your own mind. You're free to make your own choices."

For the first time, the flippancy left Ruri'iro Kujaku's manner. He looked at Hoozukimaru with gravity. "How can you say that? You haven't reached your master yet. You don't know what it's like. I never thought he would get to the point where he really doesn't want me anymore." His voice began to waver. "I live in fear of him now. If he were to trap me like that again, I . . . I don't think I could bear it. I would go crazy."

"So, don't give him a reason to trap you—"

"Why are you taking his side?! You don't understand!" Ruri'iro Kujaku burst out. "You can't understand, because your master doesn't even know you yet! What makes you think you can tell me how to act with my master when yours doesn't even know you! At least I was able to connect with my master!"

Hoozukimaru shook his head and stood up. He was in the cave of the peacocks – one of two places, the other being the shrine – where Ruri'iro Kujaku would meet him when he came to visit. He could not cross the sea to the kujaku's sanctuary, so Ruri'iro came to meet him, seeming always to be wary of the possible arrival of his master.

"There's no talking to you right now," the dragon grunted. He headed for the water.

"So now even you don't want to be with me," Ruri'iro huffed, turning his back and crossing his arms over his chest in a pouty manner.

"You know, you're a master at putting on scenes and making others feel guilty," Hoozukimaru stated, "But it doesn't work on me. You know that, flashy. And you know . . . once in a while you might want to ask about me and what's going on in my master's life. " A pause. "Then you might know that my master has been told to find a new weapon. They don't' think I'm a zanpakuto, so he's been ordered to replace me." With that, he waded into the water. "I'll be back in a couple days to check on you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku was stunned. "Hoozukimaru, wait! I didn't know—"

"Of course, you didn't. You never asked. You _never_ ask. All you ever care about is yourself."

"But I—"

"Don't worry about it. I'm not going down without a fight, and I _am_ his zanpakuto. He can't pick another one out of a pile and make it his." He turned to face Ruri'iro Kujaku before disappearing beneath the surface. "In the meantime, you should try not to be so angry. You're not beautiful when you're angry. And even though you won't admit it, no matter how angry you are at little pretty, you love him more than you hate him. Be happy you belong to him."

* * *

Seventy West was an interesting place. Topographically speaking.

The eastern half of the region was the lush foothills of the low, ancient Apchactin Mountains. But where the foothills ended, perhaps a hundred kilometers across the region, there rose up arid, desert-like conditions. No transition zone. It went straight from green mountains to brown, rocky valleys dotted with caves, rolling sandy dunes, and the occasional settlement that had sprouted up around watering holes.

Upon their arrival, Captain Zaraki took his lieutenant and his new third and fifth seats (the fourth seat had never been refilled) with him when he went to meet with the Squad Ten captain.

Captain Hammad Qayyam was a good-natured man whose easy manner was often mistaken for indifference, a misconception that was quickly laid to rest as people came to know him. He was a master at tracking down hollows, and so he enjoyed going out on missions much more than time spent in garrison.

On this particular outing, his squad had detected traces of a hollow's reiatsu dispersed over a wide area. Coupled with reports of disappearing souls, it was enough to launch a search, which so far had turned up nothing.

"I've still got a couple dozen of my squad out there finishing up their patrols," Captain Qayyam stated. "But you can send your men out. Other than the hollow, there's nothing to report. It's quiet."

Zaraki had heard the only thing that interested him. There was a hollow. He hoped it would be a vicious one, for he was ready for some action. He split his squad into twelve teams, taking Ikkaku on his team and placing Yumichika with Lieutenant Kusajishi. They departed for their areas of responsibility, and they were not scheduled to reunite as a squad until twenty-seven days later.

Yumichika would have rather been with Ikkaku, but he recognized that he might be in a better position for learning patrolling and tracking skills if he were separated from Ikkaku. He wouldn't be so distracted.

Immediately, Lieutenant Kusajishi took Yumichika and the twenty-two other men to the north-eastern boundary of the region, where the lushness had not yet given way to the desert. Much to Yumichika's surprise, the lieutenant dispersed the rest of the team right away with only minimal instructions.

She then reached up and pulled Yumichika down to hunker in front of her.

"Find the hollow, Wierdo," she said bluntly, her eyes glinting in the morning light.

Yumichika looked back at her with surprise. "Find the hollow? I—what makes you think I can find the hollow, Lieutenant?"

"You don't feel its reiatsu?"

"I . . . no, I don't." Yumichika was perplexed.

"Are you trying?" she asked.

"Well, no. I—"

"Try."

Yumichika had no idea what to do. He stood up and waited silently, wondering if some inkling would come to him. But it didn't. He felt no sense of the hollow.

At length, Lieutenant Kusajishi spoke. "You really don't know what to do?"

"I don't," Yumichika replied, feeling foolish.

"Hm-mmm." The thoughtful expression that came across the lieutenant's face cast an incongruous shadow between her childish appearance and the musings of an adult. "But you _should_ feel it. Maybe you need more practice."

Yumichika shook his head. "I don't . . . I don't understand. Are Shinigami supposed to be able to sense hollows? If that's the case, then why couldn't Squad Ten find it?"

"Sometimes regular Shinigami can sense them, but most can't," the lieutenant replied, then she said with narrowed eyes. "But you're not like the others."

Yumichika's eyes widened. "What?"

"You're not like most of us."

Yumichika's heart began to pound. Was it possible that Lieutenant Kusajishi knew his secret?

"I don't know why, but you're different." A pause. "I can tell . . . you're able to sense hollows. You just haven't learned how yet."

Yumichika was speechless.

"I can teach you."

"How—how can you be sure that I can sense hollows? I've never been able to sense hollows," Yumichika protested; but no sooner had he finished speaking than he remembered the hollow in the river. Just before the attack, he had felt a tingling, a sense of panic. He wondered now if it had been the hollow he was sensing. And going even further back, he had always been able to sense the hollow that had stalked him in the living world; that was how he'd been able to evade it.

"I can just tell," came the bubbly reply.

"Are you able to sense hollows, Lieutenant?" Yumichika asked.

"Sometimes. But I can teach you. I can teach you how to get better."

Yumichika hesitated. "You—you mean get better at detecting hollows?" he asked, wanting to be sure that the lieutenant was not sensing the kido-nature of his soul.

"Yep! I want to train you."

After a moment's consideration, Yumichika nodded once. "Okay, Lieutenant. If you think it's something I really can do."

"Yay! It will be fun!"

"Fighting hollows isn't really fun, is it?"

The look of bewilderment that sprang into the lieutenant's face told Yumichika that his words did not fit neatly into the Squad Eleven ethos. He should have known better. He did know better. How could he have made such a careless statement? He would have to watch his words and work his way out of this one.

"I mean, I know it's fun, but—but it's more fun to—to just find them by surprise, isn't it?" It was a sloppy attempt at erasing the slip, but it was the best he could think of at the moment.

And for Lieutenant Kusajishi, it was good enough. "And you'll be able to find them real easy!" She paused. "Can your zanpakuto detect hollows?"

Yumichika felt his shoulders tighten. "I don't know. I've never noticed any special ability in that area."

"Have you asked him?"

"Asked him . . . "

"If he can detect hollows?"

"No," Yumichika replied flatly, hoping that she would not ask him to attempt to communicate with Ruri'iro Kujaku right then and there. "I never had a reason to ask him."

"Hmmm." Lieutenant Kusajishi. "You need to ask him."

"Right here? Now?"

"No, not right now," she replied. "Right now, you should go where you think you should go."

This instruction was not helpful to Yumichika at all. "Uh . . . "

"Come on, Wierdo. Go where you want and I'll go with you."

* * *

If there were a heaven, this would be it.

Ikkaku could not have imagined a more wonderful scenario.

Being out on patrol at the side of Kenpachi Zaraki was the most alive Ikkaku had ever felt. The man was everything Ikkaku had thought him to be – and more. Ikkaku's admiration of him had increased every day since joining his squad.

Zaraki's zeal for combat was unparalleled. More than anything, he relished the opportunity to match brawn with brawn. Of the four elements , his undisputed favorite was Hakuda – even more than Zanjutsu. He was aggressive, but he had the strength and skill to back up his aggression. Added to that was the sheer crushing power of his reiatsu, which he kept under tight control most of the time. If Yumichika's reiatsu had been able to crush people, the Zaraki's must have the power to turn them to dust. Ikkaku still had not grown used to it, and his own reiatsu was still too underdeveloped to contend well when his captain let loose with his spirit energy. Still, Ikkaku did not feel badly about it, because he noticed that most of the other Shinigami also had difficulty withstanding his captain's reiatsu.

But the most amazing part of it was that Zaraki did not seek out confrontation as Ikkaku had in his earlier days. While they both shared a love of fighting, there was a distinct difference in their motivations. Ikkaku had despised peace and serenity. He'd felt bored and dead inside in the absence of conflict. He had been hateful and bitter, seeking out any confrontation that offered.

Kenpachi Zaraki seemed anything but angry. In fact, he had a certain quietness about him that stood in stark contrast to his belligerent nature and confounded Ikkaku while increasing his adulation. On top of that, Zaraki did not seek out conflict for its own sake. He was interested only in contests against strong opponents. Verbal sparring held no appeal to him. Going up against a clearly weaker adversary was not something the captain of Squad Eleven normally entertained.

Ikkaku, before meeting Zaraki, had not cared what kind of confrontation or what kind of opponent he faced. If he could not have a physical confrontation, then goading along an argument had always been his fallback. In fact, that was how he had met Yumichika. If Yumichika had simply walked away from his insults that day at the well twenty-five years ago, Ikkaku's entire life in the Soul Society would have taken a different course.

"So, what about Ayasegawa?" Zaraki asked unexpectedly, yanking Ikkaku back from his musings.

It was still the first day of their patrol, and they had been scouting along the bank of the river Ghens, almost a leisurely stroll, Ikkaku and his captain ahead of the others by twenty meters and out of earshot.

Ikkaku faltered for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"What's he doing here? He doesn't exactly look like the type to be a warrior," Zaraki answered. "Or at least, not in my squad."

Ikkaku had believed the same thing until recently. "He's a lot tougher than he looks," he said, noting that he was now in the position of defending Yumichika against the very charges he had leveled against him only a few months ago.

"Yeah, I saw that. After all, he let you beat him."

Ikkaku blanched.

"What? Did you think I didn't notice?" Zaraki posited. "I doubt anyone else did. Maybe Yachiru. But to me it was clear as day. He was about to disarm you and then he held back." His voice and manner took on a curious, delving tone. "Now, why is that?"

Ikkaku swallowed down his uncertainty. How could he explain something he didn't want to acknowledge?

"Well?" His captain pressed.

"I don't know," Ikkaku replied. "You—you'd probably have to ask him."

"Bullshit," Zaraki scoffed. "He outfought you and then let you win. I want to know why."

Ikkaku knew he was not going to be able to walk away from this. He could make something up, but the thought of delivering a deception to the man he most admired did not sit well upon his conscience. Claiming ignorance had been his choice for an easy out, but his captain wasn't accepting it.

"We've been friends a long time," Ikkaku answered. "Joining the Gotei Thirteen was my idea, and he wasn't very happy about it. I didn't—I didn't force him to join. He decided on his own. He wanted to stay with me."

"Where did he learn how to fight like that?" Zaraki asked.

"I, uh . . . he said his zanpakuto taught him," Ikkaku replied.

"Huh."

Something in Zaraki's manner worried Ikkaku. Could his captain be considering putting Yumichika out of the squad already?

"Is—is there a problem with how he fights?" Ikkaku asked.

"Neh, there's no problem as long as he can defeat his opponent," Zaraki replied. "I was curious, because he's not a big or strong guy; yet, he knows how to gain the victory with what he has."

Ikkaku did not dare mention Yumichika's most powerful weapon – his ability to seduce. He had faith that Yumichika was smart enough never to use that power in combat. It would surely earn him a one-way trip out of Squad Eleven.

"He's smart," Ikkaku hedged. "A lot smarter than me."

"Yeah, I can see that, too," Zaraki said with a humorous inflection. "Although he wasn't smart enough to stop you from fighting me that day."

Ikkaku chuckled. "I guess you're right." In fact, he thought that Yumichika's reluctance to interfere that day was one of the most important decisions Yumichika had ever made – at least as far as the course of Ikkaku's life went. If Yumichika had stopped him from fighting, he never would have discovered the greatness of the man who bore the name of Kenpachi Zaraki. He never would have been moved to put aside everything else in order to find and follow him. He never would have become a Shinigami.

And while the outcome may not have been what Yumichika had expected or hoped for, it had been the single most important moment in Ikkaku's life since coming to Soul Society.

So, while, as a decision, it might not have qualified as "smart", it had nevertheless been a fateful decision – one that Ikkaku would definitely classify as "good".

After several seconds, Captain Zaraki asked, "Do you trust him?"

Ikkaku was surprised by the question, but he answered evenly. "With my life." He paused. "Which he's saved more than once."

Zaraki gave a sound of dubious acknowledgment.

Ikkaku feared he had not made his case for Yumichika. "He has some other skills that are pretty, uh, impressive."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"He's good at sensing spiritual pressure," Ikkaku stated. "And he can—his zanpakuto has healing abilities."

"Healing abilities? Huh, he should be in Squad Four," Zaraki grunted. "A zanpakuto should be for fighting and killing – not for healing."

A lump formed in Ikkaku's throat. "But you've seen that he's good—"

"Stop defending him. He doesn't need your defense. I'm not kicking him out of the squad," Captain Zaraki said, sounding perturbed. "I was just curious why he was here. He didn't seem the type to join the Gotei Thirteen, but you answered that. And you said you trust him. That's good enough for me."

* * *

Another spider web. The place was full of them. If a hollow had been moving through here, it had miraculously managed to avoid all the spider webs Yumichika was now running into.

He brushed another one out of his face and then wiped the sticky threads from his fingers against the wall. The structure through which he was passing had been someone's dwelling at one time – and a quite nice one, at that. It was a single-story affair with at least six different hard-wall rooms, although the rest of the house was reminiscent of the machiya style Yumichika had lived in back in Mito. It stood on stilts, about two meters above the ground, just within the treeline where the jungle met the desert.

Yumichika's senses had led him here, but he wasn't really sure if it had been his senses at all, or just the lay of the land and his tendency to follow the most attractive route. Either way, he and Lieutenant Kusajishi had come to this structure late in the evening of the first day after setting out at a leisurely shunpou; and upon arriving, the lieutenant had instructed him to check out the house while she went and looked along the treeline, for she had actually begun to sense something herself.

Yumichika would have preferred the treeline, especially after discovering the state of decay inside the house; but he continued on, moving from one room to the next.

As he entered one of two rooms along the back of the house, he heard movement in the adjoining room. A moment later, a shadow appeared against the wall through the doorway.

He leapt back into a defensive position just as a figure came into the room.

Yumichika was speechless.

Facing off against him was a face he had never forgotten, a face he had never imagined he would see again. A face so beautiful . . .

He felt like he was dissolving into a dream.

"Yu-Yumichika?"

Even the voice was the same –so clear and buoyant.

"You remember me?" Yumichika asked unnecessarily.

His opponent lowered her weapon, which she had been holding at the ready. "Of course, I do. How could I ever forget the most beautiful soul I'd ever seen?"

Memories came flooding back into Yumichika's mind. Weeks of hiding under the bridge. The agony of watching his family mourn his death. The pain of separation from them and the fear he would never again find a place of acceptance and welcome.

And then she had come. At that time, she had been the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

She was still beautiful, perhaps even more so, surpassed only by Ruri'iro Kujaku.

And Yumichika himself.

"Rangiku."

"I see you remember me, as well," the woman smiled.

"I—I . . . this is . . . I can't . . . " Yumichika stammered.

In one swift movement, the woman had pulled Yumichika to her ample, mostly exposed bosom and squeezed him tightly. "I see you're as tongue-tied now as you were then!" she laughed, then holding him at arm's length, "Look at you! I didn't think I'd ever see you again, but here you are! Are you really a Shinigami?"

Yumichika had to let the color drain from his cheeks after his unexpected encounter with her anatomy, but his joy overrode any embarrassment he felt.

"I joined about three months ago," Yumichika replied.

"Part of this last graduating class?"

"Uh, no . . . we, uh . . . we sort of fought our way in—"

"Fought your way in? What squad are you?"

"Eleven—"

"Eleven?! Kenpachi Zaraki's squad? Well, that doesn't seem like a good fit for you, but I guess it goes to show, you never can tell." She looked at him with incredible fondness from the depth of her amber eyes. "I've thought about you a lot over the years. I even went back several times to see how you were doing. Then one day, you were gone. I figured you had finally grown comfortable and gone to be with other people."

"That's exactly what happened," Yumichika replied. Silently, he mused that he might have grown too comfortable with other people, but that wasn't anything Rangiku needed to know. He could never tell her how he had spent so many years of his life trading his body, indulging in dissipation after dissipation, growing his vanity and self-love, seeking the adulation of others.

He could not bear the idea that she would be disappointed in him. Looking at her now, he was transported back to that moment when she had held out her hand to him and drawn him out into the winter light. She had shown him his reflection; and in doing so, she had revealed her own beauty, not only on the surface but a beauty of the spirit. That day, in the brightness of the snow-reflected sunlight, she had appeared radiant and ethereal, and she had changed Yumichika's eternity from one of despair and desolation to one of hope and possibility.

Now, in the fading twilight of a rainy December evening, she filled his eyes with what could only be described as a sultry fullness. Her red hair was a bit longer than he remembered, and she wore a pink scarf around her neck – a nice accessory to break up the boring black and white of the Shinigami uniform. Her face was round, her skin the color of ivory. She had kind eyes that seemed to belie a hidden fire or perhaps it was a hidden sadness; but whatever it was, it was intense. Her lips were pink and smooth like satin, and Yumichika immediately, and to his surprise, wondered what it would be like to kiss them. And her figure . . . she was well-endowed and not ashamed of it.

Still, beneath the physical attributes, Yumichika saw the only thing that really mattered to him: the gentle determination of the soul who had led him away from destruction.

"And now, you're a Soul Reaper," she was saying.

Yumichika had only one thing on his mind. "You saved me. You saved my soul. I never got a chance to say thank you."

Rangiku tried to sound nonchalant. "That's our main purpose. To save souls."

"It was much more than that," Yumichika stated. "I would have turned into a hollow. You saved me. _Me_. It was just between me and you. It wasn't just a job. It was the only way I could be free of the fear and anger that were driving me closer to becoming a hollow."

"You _were_ very afraid," Rankgiku recalled, taking his hand. A distant gleam of memory came into her eye. "I'll never forget when you saw your reflection for the first time and discovered your soul was beautiful." She paused and her gaze returned to the present. "And I see that hasn't changed."

"So I'm told," Yumichika replied, at which Rangiku gave him a sound thwack on top of the head.

"Hey!" Yumichika chirped in protest.

"You're supposed to be humble about your beauty," Rangiku admonished him playfully.

"Well, that's kind of hard to do," Yumichika replied. "Are you humble about yours?"

A knowing grin crossed Rangiku's face. "Ah, you're smooth." She looked out the broken window at the dimming light beneath the canopy of the trees. "I should report back to my squad. I was supposed to be back hours ago. Captain Qayyam is going to have a fit. Oh, but there's so much I want to talk to you about. I want to know what you've been doing all the years since I brought you to Soul Society. We should meet for drinks or dinner when you get back from patrol."

Yumichika nodded. "I'd like that."

"I can introduce you around," she went on enthusiastically. "I'm sure you're dying to meet people outside Zaraki's squad, knowing how they are. Everyone will be so surprised to find out that one of the souls I brought here became a Shinigami."

At this, Yumichika balked. "Rangiku . . . "

"What's wrong?"

"I know this may sound funny, but . . . I want to keep this our secret."

Rangiku was puzzled. "Keep what a secret?"

"That you're the one who brought me here," Yumichika replied.

"But why?"

Yumichika looked down in a shy manner. "Because coming to Soul Society was . . . it was a very private thing for me. It was just you and me. It was the beginning of my life here, and you were the only one to share it with me. I want to keep it that way."

Rangiku was touched. "You mean you've never told anyone how you came to Soul Society?"

"I've told one person," Yumichika replied. "We joined the squad together. He knows the story, but he doesn't know who you are. I don't want him to know. I guess it's childish, but it's the way I feel."

Rangiku inclined her head thoughtfully. "It might be kind of fun. And if it means that much to you, okay. I'll do it." She smiled brightly once more before taking him again in a warm embrace. "I don't remember the last time I was this happy."

Yumichika returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around her and feeling, for the first time in months, a sense of comfort and serenity. He could not explain, but he knew intrinsically that she still cared about him. He might be wearing a Shinigami uniform, but she still viewed him as the timid, frightened soul she had led to Soul Society all those years ago. She still found him beautiful. She had never forgotten him. Could she say the same about all the other souls she had brought here? It didn't matter to Yumichika. She remembered him. That held meaning enough. He could not wait for the opportunity to speak more with her.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Dear Reader, I wanted to include a few quick notes. First, thank you to everyone who has been providing reviews and private messages. I certainly appreciate the kind words and would ask that you perhaps recommend the story to others. Second, I know I said I would try to keep the chapters shorter than in Part I. I guess I'm just not very good at it, because this is a looong one! I can't help it! I love these characters! Love writing about them! Love trying to come up with fun storylines. And last, I'd like to give a personal thanks to Annie-Chan for allowing me to bounce some ideas off her. Being my "character" check is not an easy thing, as she well knows; so I appreciate all the patience and good advice. In addition, I would like to recommend to readers, Annie-chan's "Price of Freedom", also on this website. It's a very original take on Ikkaku/Yumichika - beautifully written! So, now . . . onto more havoc! Peace, The Kujaku_**

hapter 4 Distance Between

_"The longer the shadow become in my life,  
__the colder the breeze seems to be.  
__The days roll on by, still I can't quite believe  
__that someone's not waiting for me.  
__It's cold outside of your heart."_

_"It's Cold Outside of Your Heart"  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

_"Master?"_

Yumichika startled at the sound of Ruri'iro Kujaku's voice inside his head. It had been so long since the reikon had sought him out that he wasn't even sure if he were really hearing the voice or imagining it.

But a moment later, he knew his senses were not deceiving him.

_"Master, come to me. Please. I must speak with you."_

Yumichika made a quick glance around him. He was alone. Rangiku had left nearly thirty minutes ago to return to her captain. Lieutenant Kusajishi was still out in the jungle or perhaps she had ventured into the desert. Yumichika felt no immediate danger from the hollow.

He was anxious to take advantage of Ruri'iro Kujaku's unexpected desire to see him, but he was also hesitant. In the past, when he responded to the kujaku's summons, he would simply close his eyes and enter his inner world with no preparation. Perhaps in this instance, he should attempt to use the Jinzen method. It might give him better control over the situation once he entered his zanpakuto's realm. Or his complete lack of mastery of the practice could make things worse.

His desperation to see Ruri'iro Kujaku and have a decent exchange with him won out in short order, and he entered his inner world as he always had – with no precautions. He would trust Ruri'iro Kujaku. He wanted to trust him.

He dropped to his knees and leaned back on his heels. He closed his eyes . . .

. . . and emerged into the maroon room.

To his surprise, Ruri'iro Kujaku was there waiting for him. The reikon had not called out to him from his sanctuary beyond the sea. He'd come here to their usual meeting place to await his master's arrival.

Immediately, Yumichika saw the swirling orange of anxiety in the reikon's halo, and he was instantly filled with dread. He was already regretting his decision not to use Jinzen.

"What's wrong?"

"You _must_ teach Madarame how to communicate with his zanpakuto," came the direct answer, spoken with passion and insistence.

Yumichika was dumbstruck. This was not anything he'd imagined Ruri'iro Kujaku would bring up.

"What—what makes you say that?" he asked.

"Did you know that Madarame is going to get a new sword? Your _captain_ doesn't think his current sword is a zanpakuto," Ruri'iro explained. "Master, you can't let that happen."

Yumichika stared at him without speaking. He had no idea what to say. He could barely get his head around the idea that this was the reason Ruri'iro Kujaku had called out to him.

At last, he said, "That's what you wanted to tell me?"

"Master, you can't let Madarame toss away his weapon! It _is_ a zanpakuto! Madarame just needs to learn how to talk to him!" Ruri'iro Kujaku implored heatedly. "You can teach him!"

After several seconds, Yumichika spoke in quiet contrast to the reikon's excited expression. "It's none of my business."

This excuse infuriated Ruri'iro Kujaku, for he knew full well that his master considered anything involving Madarame to be _his_ business. Why was he drawing the line here?

"It _is_ your business!" he burst out. "If Madarame gets rid of his weapon, he'll be losing his zanpakuto! And without his zanpakuto, he'll be kicked out of Squad Eleven – out of the Gotei 13 altogether! He'll be angry and miserable, and he'll leave you behind again—"

"I have nothing to do with Ikkaku and his search for a zanpakuto—"

"He doesn't need to search!" Ruri'iro Kujaku stepped forward and took hold of Yumichika's shoulders. "He already has one!"

Yumichika felt the thrilling tingle run through his body at the kujaku's touch, but he kept his wits about him. "Why does this mean so much to you?"

"Because Hoozu—" He caught himself. "Because Madarame's zanpakuto is . . . he's all I have."

"He's not all you have," Yumichika pointed out. "He may be all you want lately, but he's not all you have."

"While you've been following Madarame all these months, he's been the only one to spend time with me—"

"I came here many times," Yumichika corrected, "But you wouldn't come to me."

"Master, I—I was angry at you. I still am. But this is important to me. Master, please . . . I can't lose him. I can't. He's the only contact I have for days on end," Ruri'iro Kujaku begged.

Yumichika tilted his head to one side. "So, this isn't about Ikkaku. Or his zanpakuto. It's about you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku let out a sound of anguish.

"You only wanted me to come here, because you wanted me to do something for _you_," Yumichika stated, and he sounded sad.

"My motives might be selfish, but if you do this, it will be good for everyone – for me, you, Madarame, and his zanpakuto," Ruri'iro Kujaku insisted.

"How do you know Ikkaku intends to get a new zanpakuto—"

"He can't get a new zanpakuto," the reikon cut him off. "It will just be a sword in his hands. He has only one zanpakuto, and that's the weapon he already has!"

"But how do you know Ikkaku intends to get a new weapon? I've been blocking you, so unless you've been going around my defenses again, how would you know?" Yumichika asked.

"Because Madarame doesn't block his zanpakuto. He doesn't even know he exists," Ruri'iro explained. "The last time he was here, he told me that they don't think he's a zanpakuto, so Madarame's been ordered to get a new sword."

Yumichika froze. "The last time he was here? What do you mean, _he was here_?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was struck with his own carelessness. How could he have let those words slip out? "The last time I spoke to him," he attempted as a cover.

"That's not what you said," Yumichika said. "You said _the last time he was here_." His manner and voice were filled with gravity. "You told me you saw him in the mirrors. When I was worried that someone was breaching your world, you told me that wasn't true. Ruri'iro Kujaku, tell me the truth. Has this other being entered into your world?"

"He's not some other being! He's a zanpakuto! He's Madarame's zanpakuto! Why won't you believe me?!" Ruri'iro Kujaku cried out. "And Madarame's going to lose him if you don't do something!"

"Has he been inside your world?" Yumichika demanded.

"That's not important!"

"Don't defy me, Ruri'iro Kujaku," Yumichika warned. "Just answer the question."

"Master, I—"

"Answer the question!" Yumichika shouted.

Ruri'iro Kujaku stepped back slowly, fearfully. "You're going to imprison me again."

"I'm trying not to get angry, but you—you'd better answer the question, or who knows what will happen," Yumichika bristled. "I'm trying to protect you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku hesitated. "He's been here in my world."

"Physically? In your world?"

"Yes, master."

Yumichika felt the encroaching tidal wave of anger and fear surging up his throat. He struggled to hold back, but he could not overlook what he perceived to be the stupidity of his own zanpakuto.

"How did he get in?" he asked, his voice under control for the moment.

"I don't know," the reikon replied. "He—he comes up through the water—"

"The water? In the peacock cave?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku nodded.

"The water that represents your power? The power that only I'm supposed to have access to?" Yumichika followed up.

"Yes."

"The water that even _you_ can't touch?" Yumichika's ire was growing.

"Yes, master."

"How long have you been keeping this from me? How long has he been coming here?" Yumichika demanded.

"Since right after you put me in that cage," Ruri'iro said flatly.

"That was months ago," Yumichika said.

"That's not important—"

"It is important!" Yumichika shot back angrily. "Don't you see? That thing could hurt you! You don't know what it really is—"

"Look at me, master! Does it look like he's hurting me?! The only one who's ever hurt me is you!" the Kujaku burst out, his own anger coming to the surface.

"He's turning you against me—"

"He isn't! He actually likes you—"

Yumichika turned his shoulder. "I'm going back to the outside world. If I stay here, I'm going to get too angry."

Ruri'iro Kujaku reached out and grabbed his arm. "Master, listen to me! Please, you have to believe me! If Madarame loses his zanpakuto, everything you're living now would come to an end!"

Yumichika did not turn, but spoke back over his shoulder in a cold voice. "What would be wrong with that?"

Surprised by these words, Ruri'iro Kujaku released him.

Yumichika continued to speak without ever facing the reikon. "I never wanted to come here in the first place. Neither did you. If Ikkaku gets kicked out of the Gotei 13, then there's a chance he'd return with me to Venla – or at least to some life that doesn't center around Captain Zaraki. That's what I want. I thought you wanted it, too."

Ruri'rio Kujaku was struck speechless.

"You _did_ want it at one time," Yumichika went on. "But then you met this other being, this creature that may or may not be Ikkaku's zanpakuto, and all your interests changed. It's more important to you to be around this being than it is to be with me."

And still the peacock was silent.

"If we have to leave the Gotei 13, Ikkaku may decide he doesn't want me around at all anymore. I know that. But I can't make my decisions based on things that might happen—"

Ruri'iro Kujaku finally found his voice. "What? That's ridiculous! If you don't consider the consequences of your actions, then you'll end up making mistake after mistake! Look at your life up to this point—"

"Ruri'iro Kujaku, stop." Yumichika's voice commanding and simmering with rage. "This is over."

With that, he vanished.

Ruri'iro Kujaku grit his teeth and set his shoulders. He spoke to the empty room.

"No, it's not."

* * *

No sooner had Yumichika remerged into the outer world than he found himself hurtling across the room, his motion slowed only by the impact of his body as it broke through the rear wall of the structure.

He landed on the ground outside; and as he got to his hands and knees, he was hit again. This time, he used his agility to rebound off one of the trees and land on his feet, Ruri'iro Kujaku in hand.

Facing him was the most hideous being he had ever laid eyes on. It stood two meters high and was humanoid in figure, but that was where the similarities ended. Each arm hung nearly to the ground and ended in splays of whip-like reptilian fingers, undulating and twisting like seaweed in the tide. The facial features, such as they were, could not be correlated with those of a human face. There were no discernable eyes, nose or mouth. Instead, from the center of the ovoid head, came a sprout of more of the writhing tentacles. And in the middle of the creature's chest – a large, gaping hole.

It was the hollow.

"Sake—"

Yumichika never finished the release command. From the head, a dozen of the tentacles shot forward to ensnare him, circling around his arms and legs, his neck and waist. He couldn't breathe, and he could not fight against the strength that was cutting off the circulation in his entire body and squeezing the life out of him.

But if Yumichika were expecting to be squeezed to death, the hollow had no intention of such an easy way out. It lifted him off the ground and thrashed him to one side then the next, smashing him against trees, knocking them to splinters in the process. It slammed him down and ground him into the jungle floor. Then it flung him into the house with such violence as to bring half the place down around him.

Hidden, at least for a moment, in the rubble, Yumichika struggled to get to his knees, but nothing seemed to be working right. From the waist down, he couldn't move at all. His eyes were filled with blood, and no matter how much he tried to wipe it away, more flowed down to render him effectively blind. Ruri'iro Kujaku was still clutched in his right hand, but what good would it do if he were unable to see his enemy and unable to move?

At that moment, he felt the rubble around him shift, and he knew it was the hollow searching for him. And if it found him in this state, it would kill him. He felt something wrap around his ankle, and he knew immediately it was the enemy. The creature was trying to pull him out of the rubble, not caring if it tore him to pieces in the process.

Yumichika searched blindly for something to grab onto, finding what felt like a fallen beam around which he wrapped his left arm, still keeping hold of Ruri'iro Kujaku in the other hand. But the hollow's strength meant one of two things: his arm would be ripped out of the socket or his leg would be torn off.

Unless he let go of the beam.

The moment he relaxed his grip, he found himself being jerked brutally through the wreckage, gouged by jutting pieces of fragmented wood, crushed as the hollow tried to force him through spaces too small for his body. And then he felt a second tentacle reach up far enough to encircle his waist, wrapping so tightly that he feared he would be cut in half.

"_Stop being an idiot and release me!"_

He heard the kujaku's admonition clearly in his mind, and to his surprise, he did not dismiss it out of hand, as he might have expected. It may have been the loss of blood. It may have been the fact that he did not want to die on his first mission. Or perhaps it was that he could not bear the idea of leaving Ikkaku. But Yumichika knew he had only one chance to save his life.

He could not feel the lieutenant's spirit energy anywhere nearby; but then again, he'd not felt the hollow's either – giving the lie to the lieutenant's assertion that he could somehow sense hollows. It did not seem that help was coming in time to save him from death.

Even so, it was not an easy decision, and he barely had the strength to say the words.

"Sakikirue, Ruri'iro Kujaku."

He was only vaguely aware of the weapon coming to life in his hand, bursting forth with the effulgence of the reikon's power and the excitement of one so long hidden.

Yumichika consciously directed the vines to search out the enemy, but the rest was up to Ruri'iro Kujaku. Blinded by his own blood, Yumichika could not see a thing. He had to trust the kujaku's voracious appetite for spirit energy to be sufficient to lead the vines to their target. And he could only hope that he did it soon, for his thoughts were becoming disjointed and confused. He was losing blood and soon would lose consciousness.

Then he felt it.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was engaged. He knew the feeling of warmth radiating from the hilt into his arm. He knew the slow euphoria that was creeping into his body. For Yumichika, the charge of eroticism that accompanied the use of his weapon's release was a sensation he savored. Certainly, one of the greatest drawbacks of his situation in Squad Eleven, of not being able to use Ruri'iro Kujaku at full release, was the elimination of this feeling. Even in his injured state, the pain diminished against the encroaching ecstasy.

Less than a minute later, it was over. And then Yumichika felt a different yet similar sort of taking. He knew it from the ravine where he had been trapped beneath the rockslide. It was Ruri'iro Kujaku's ingestion of the spirit particles of inanimate objects. Within seconds, the pressure against his legs abated as the debris was absorbed.

He laid his head back and breathed out a sigh of relief that turned to anguish as the pain began to return. Ruri'iro Kujaku had finished his task.

"Return, Ruri'iro Kujaku," Yumichika whispered. A moment later he felt something soft against his cheek.

_"Take it." _

Yumichika reached up with his left hand and found the delicate, waxy softness of one of Ruri'iro Kujaku's flowers.

_"Put it in your mouth."_

Yumichika did so. For a moment, the action transported him back to Venla, the pool above the meadow, the place and the time when he had first learned to release Ruri'iro Kujaku on his own. He had been so overcome with the power emanating from the zanpakuto, that he'd collapsed like an unstrung puppet. Ruri'iro Kujaku had used this same method – the energy from the vines' blooms – to revive him. And when Yumichika had opened his eyes, there had been an amazing moment of clarity when he had seen the kujaku without his halo of multi-colored light for the first time.

Could it be . . . might he be able to see him in such a way now?

Yumichika felt his body repairing itself. Every injury being healed, as if it had never happened. He wiped the blood of his eyes and opened them slowly, hopefully . . .

There was no sign of the reikon. No sign of the vines. Ruri'iro Kujaku had returned fully to sword form.

Yumichika sat up.

"Thank you," he said out loud.

He was met with silence.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku . . . thank you," he repeated.

_"Why do you thank me? It's what I'm supposed to do."_

Yumichika frowned. "I thought, after everything's that's happened between us, you might refuse to fully release."

_"I can't refuse,"_ came the reply. _"And even if I could, I wouldn't."_

Yumichika hesitated a moment. "I'm still grateful," he concluded.

That ended the conversation.

Yumichika got to his feet and took stock of the situation. The place looked like a tornado had hit it. He, himself, was a mess. His uniform was nearly torn to shreds and covered in blood stains—

Blood stains!

How was he going to explain the torn uniform and blood stains when his body was now completely intact? He could not simply pass it off as hollow blood. And as soon as the lieutenant saw the destruction and the state of his dress, she would immediately assume injuries and probably send him for medical attention—

Unless . . .

It occurred to Yumichika that Squad Eleven hadn't shown much inclination as a unit or as individuals to pay attention to injuries sustained in training. How likely was it that they would pay attention to injuries sustained in combat? Knowing Zaraki's mindset, it seemed highly unlikely.

Other than his first skirmish against Ikkaku for entrance into the squad, Yumichika had not had medical attention once, and it was not from lack of need. Squad Eleven's training regimen was fierce and brutal. Yumichika had sustained dozens of injuries, most of them minor; yet not once had he been sent to see a medic. The same could be said for Ikkaku and the rest of the squad; injuries were a common occurrence in Zaraki's squad.

For Yumichika, it was of little concern. He could heal himself – or rather, Ruri'iro Kujaku could heal him, but none of his injuries had been that severe. He'd taken some bruises and scrapes and allowed them to heal naturally. As such, he had a scar or two; but he knew he could ask Ruri'iro Kujaku to fix those once things settled down between them.

Yes, with a little luck, while others might notice, no one would care if he'd been injured or not. And although his wounds were closed and completely healed, he was still covered in blood, hiding the fact that he was whole. Given that he was up and walking, the lieutenant might simply overlook all the blood. Mobility seemed to be good enough for Squad Eleven.

"Weirdo?"

Yumichika jumped at the sound of Lieutenant Kusajishi's voice.

"L-lieutenant!"

"What happened?" she asked, looking around but not seeming at all surprised.

"I, uh, I—"

"You found the hollow?"

"It found me," Yumichika replied. "I destroyed it."

"You got hurt," the lieutenant stated.

"Just a little," Yumichika shrugged. "I got caught in the house when the hollow destroyed it."

He could not quite read the expression on the round, peachy face staring back at him, but he could tell there was some skepticism there.

"You killed it by yourself?" she asked at length.

"Me and Fuji Kujaku," Yumichika replied, then he added, "There was no one else around." A pause. "Where did you go, lieutenant? Didn't you hear all the commotion?"

"I was across the desert," came the answer. "I found something interesting and it led me across the desert."

"Across the desert?" Yumichika was now sounding somewhat disrespectful. "How far away were you that you couldn't hear or sense that I was in danger?"

"All the way," she replied.

"All the way? How could you be all the way across? The pre-brief for this mission showed that the desert is hundreds of kilometers across," Yumichika challenged.

"Hee-hee! You should already know the answer to that," Lieutenant Kusajishi giggled, and her voice took on a sing-song character. "If you don't, I'm going to have to show you!" With that, she grabbed his wrist, and before Yumichika even knew what was happening, he found himself skimming over the arid sands at a speed that was incomprehensible, except in that it was making him feel ill. Less than a minute later, he was lying on the ground, trying to stop his head from spinning and chastising himself for ever thinking he could be smart with the lieutenant.

"From all the way over here, I didn't know anything was happening," the lieutenant was saying. "Besides, I think you're stronger than you look."

Yumichika sat up slowly, rubbing his temples. "Thanks."

"I wasn't afraid of the hollow beating you," she went on. Then, looking at his appearance, "You look like you had a good fight. You look tough." A giggle. "You _never_ look tough, Wierdo."

Yumichika sighed, getting to his feet. "Why do you call me that?"

"Because you _are_!" she chirped. Her voice and manner were anything but unkind. It was clear that the nickname was affectionately given. She sprang up unexpectedly, forcing Yumichika to catch her on his hip, his arms around her tiny waist. A fleeting recollection skitted through his mind of his own childhood, poised on his father's hip in much the same way.

"And I _like_ you this way," she said, her eyes bright even in the fading light.

A tenderness swelled inside Yumichika. Lieutenant or not, the little girl in his arms was just that: a little girl. With all the honesty and non-affectation that came with being a small child. She might be skilled as a warrior. She might be deadly. She might even be brazen and difficult from time to time, but the core of her being was that of a child.

It amazed Yumichika to think she must have died as a child and therefore would always remain a child in temperament and spirit, no matter how much wisdom and experience she might gain in Soul Society.

"I like you, too, Lieutenant," Yumichika stated, not really sure what was appropriate to say to the second-in-command of his squad.

She banged him lightly on the top of his head. "Don't be fresh! Hee-hooo!" She bounced off his hip with a laugh.

Yumichika chuckled quietly. He looked around to see that they were on the verge between the desert and a thin line of greenery, perhaps four or five kilometers wide, on the other side of which was a shining blue sea.

"You said you were following something that led you here," he said. "What was it?"

The lieutenant knit her brows. "I don't know. I kept hearing a voice. It was like—a whisper. I thought it might be the hollow, but every time I got close, it would move away. One time, I thought I saw a hell butterfly, but then it disappeared, and I couldn't get a good look."

Yumichika did not like the sound of any of this. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go off on your own, Lieutenant. Not after what happened with the disappearance of all those squad officers."

"Ohh, that's because they were stupid," came the blunt response. "Kenny said they weren't strong enough."

"Well, a lot of them were captains and vice-captains, so they must have been pretty strong," Yumichika pointed out.

"Maybe. But they weren't as strong as Kenny." She spoke as if that settled the matter, then turned to the subject at hand. "I can't hear the voice anymore." She stood still and silent for several seconds. "No, I can't hear it. Can you hear anything?"

Yumichika listened. The only sounds he could hear were the breeze in the treetops and an occasional bird's call.

"I don't hear a voice, Lieutenant," he replied.

"It's here . . . somewhere," she said with certainty. A look of joyful slyness came into her eye. "And we're going to find it! Come on, Wierdo, let's go!"

* * *

"This is boring as hell."

Ikkaku looked over to where Captain Zaraki was sitting on a rocky crag overlooking the juncture where the desert morphed into dusty canyonlands. Being that it was winter, there was a good chance of rain in this area, and if that happened, the gorges would fill with flashflood water. That might prove interesting, but it would not be satisfactory to alleviate the captain's boredom.

They were two and half weeks into their patrol.

Word had already come from Lieutenant Kusajishi's detachment that the hollow had been found and defeated by Fifth Seat Ayasegawa. That had put a serious damper on Captain Zaraki's enthusiasm. After all, it was not in him to hunt and track down an enemy. He much preferred to let others handle that, but he would gladly take on the fighting aspect. As such, with the demise of the hollow, he had ordered his detachment to take up the search for new enemies while he himself groused about the lack of excitement.

Ikkaku, on the other hand, wasn't sure how he felt. A whole range of emotions had tumbled through his mind when he heard the news that Yumichika had single-handedly defeated the hollow. His first instinct had been jealousy. Yumichika was upstaging him at every turn. It wasn't enough that Zaraki had noticed the true victor in the fight to join the squad; now, he had further proof of Yumichika's prowess, in that of all the blood-thirsty miscreants who comprised Squad Eleven, the one to prevail against the hollow was also the most dainty. A fifth seat was outperforming a third. It was humiliating.

Of course, on the heels of his jealousy, relief ran a close second. Relief that Yumichika was uninjured. Relief that he apparently had not used any questionable ability to gain the victory, although the very idea of seducing a hollow was too abhorrent to entertain.

Added to the mix was a sense of wonder. He continued to marvel at how well Yumichika was fitting into the squad and his role as a Shinigami. He was actually proud of him in a certain respect, and he held out an ever-increasing hope that Yumichika would come to fully embrace this new life and leave behind the desire to return to a simpler, quieter existence.

"Ayasegawa destroyed the hollow, and now there's nothing to do." Captain Zaraki was still talking.

Ikkaku thought for a moment, then offered with a shrug, "We could always go join him and the lieutenant and see what they're doing."

"I know what they're doing. They're trying to find some voice that Yachiru heard," Zaraki snapped. "I told her if they find where it's coming from and it's a good opponent, she's to get me."

"We could go help them find it."

"Screw that," Zaraki said dismissively. "I'm not interested in tracking down something that might not even be worth my effort. If it's worth fighting, Yachiru will let me know."

"What if she doesn't have time to get you? She didn't last time."

Zaraki turned a warning eye. "Are you trying to make tick me off?"

"No, Sir!"

"Good, then shut up and keep your eyes open for anything interesting."

* * *

"Flashy."

Ruri'iro Kujaku craned his head back over his shoulder from where he was sitting in the middle of the bed in the maroon room.

"Hoozukimaru!" he cried out, leaping to his feet and in one graceful swoop, gliding to stand against the dragon's chest, wrapping his arms around him in a completely unprideful display of emotion. He spoke softly into the furred chest. "You came back."

"I told you I would," Hoozukimaru replied, moved by the peacock's unadulterated humility. "I'm sorry it took me so long. I just needed a little time to cool off."

"Are you still angry?"

"Not anymore."

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked up at him. "You were right. I was being selfish and thoughtless. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't bear the thought of you turning against me. Do you forgive me?"

Hoozukimaru gave him an affectionate squeeze. "Stupid peacock." After a few seconds, he eased back. "You okay?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku nodded. "Yes."

"Did you make up with little pretty yet?"

"No," came the reply, "But he did use me – in full release."

"He did? Wow, I wouldn't have expected that." Hoozukimaru was genuinely surprised.

"He was attacked by a hollow, and there was no one around to see him use me, so he did, and now the hollow is dead." Ruri'iro Kujaku sounded pleased and proud.

"That's a step in the right direction, isn't it," Hoozukimaru stated.

"I don't think it was step in any direction," Ruri'iro countered. "I think he did it out of desperation and because he knew no one would see."

"Well, he wouldn't let himself be killed just to keep you hidden," Hoozukimaru pointed out.

But again, Ruri'iro Kujaku disagreed. "I'm not sure about that. I think he'd risk everything, including his life, if it meant losing Madarame." With that, he changed the subject, "Speaking of whom . . . is he any closer to knowing you?"

Hoozukimaru grunted his disgust. "That blockhead is lucky he knows his own name."

"No luck?"

"None. He's already decided he's getting a new sword, so he doesn't even try. I try to communicate with him, but he's too stubborn to even acknowledge my voice," Hoozukimaru replied. "Zaraki says he needs a new sword, so my master believes him without question."

Ruri'iro frowned. "I tried to convince my master to talk to him."

Hoozukimaru raised his brows in surprise. "You did?"

The reikon nodded. "But it didn't work. Instead, he got angry because I—I let it slip that you were entering my world. He doesn't like that. He's not sure what you are, and he thinks I'm putting myself in danger."

A wry grin curled the corners of Hoozukimaru's mouth. "Sort of like when my master thought you were a hollow."

"Yes, very much like that." Ruri'iro paused for a moment. "Maybe—maybe I could ask him to come inside while you're here. Then he'd see that you're really Madarame's zanpakuto, and he'd tell him about you."

The wryness gave way to sincerity. "I appreciate that thought, Flashy. But the first person to ever see me should be my master. It will happen one way or another. Like I said before, I am his zanpakuto, and he can't just find another."

"But I can't lose you," the kujaku lamented. "I can't be alone here . . . I just can't."

Hoozukimaru hated seeing him this way. A creature so beautiful should never be forlorn. He reached out and playfully tugged on the two plaits of blue-black hair hanging down, one on each side of Ruri'iro Kujaku's face.

"I'm here now, even though our masters aren't together. They're hundreds of miles apart," he pointed out.

"That—that's right," Ruri'iro Kujaku agreed, looking hopeful. "Maybe it doesn't matter how far away you are; you might still be able to come see me through the pool."

"Ai-ya," Hoozukimaru made a funny sound of agreement, meant to further dispel the dejection from his friend. It was what he didn't say that worried him, for he feared that distance was no matter when it came to his ability to enter the kujaku's inner world. No, what frightened him was that once he was no longer in his master's possession, he would lose what little individual identity he had. It was his master's hand, his master's voice, his master's presence that had sparked him to existence. Would the absence of that hand, that voice, that presence return him to complete obscurity? And in doing so, rob him of the ability to enter Ruri'iro Kujaku's world?

He looked at Ruri'iro Kujaku and could see the faint glint of hope in his eyes, the meager smile on his lips. But he also knew the kujaku was forcing a positive attitude that he did not really feel.

"I'm glad I have you," he admitted, then added with a prodding inflection, "Even if you are a sentimental sop." He went on quickly, preempting any rebuttal. "So, tell me about this hollow you defeated."

"Well . . . " Ruri'iro settled comfortably into story-teller role, dropping cross-legged onto the bed. Hoozukimaru flopped back beside him. "You know I've only been going around my master's defenses a little bit, just so I can see what's going on outside, but not enough for him to notice. Well, at the time the hollow appeared, I'd been staying within the bounds of this world, so I didn't know anything was going on. I was right here in this room—I've been staying here instead of across the sea, hoping to draw him in and convince him—" He cut off suddenly. "Oh, my—master!" He got frantically to his feet and looked at Hoozukimaru. "Do you feel that?! Do you feel that?!"

Hoozukimaru got up slowly, stunned. "Yes, I feel it."

Even in another zanpakuto's inner world . . . he could feel it.

* * *

"Get back! Get back!" Yumichika ordered. "If it touches you, you're dead!"

The dozen or so squad members arrayed behind him moved back only minimally, their swords held at the ready.

"I said get back!" he repeated, his voice containing a hard, angry tone that was alien to him.

"Zaraki's men don't run from anything! Not even death!" one of the men shouted.

"Or stupidity, it would seem!" Yumichika shot back. "Now, do as I command, or you'll have Lieutenant Kusajishi to face after this – if you're still alive!"

Shit! What was he going to do? He'd already lost three men foolish enough to leap before looking; the lieutenant had gone back to fetch the captain; and he could see absolutely no defense against the opponent they were facing, other than to avoid engagement. Yet, he'd been instructed to keep it from getting away, and that was what he was doing.

It was the middle of the fourth week of the patrol – so close to the end. Lieutenant Kusajishi had brought up the rest of the squad to the far side of the desert, and here they had set about trying to track down whatever it was that had roused her suspicions, although they had nothing more solid to go on than "a voice" and "maybe a hell butterfly."

For the past week and a half, they had been scouring the area between the desert and the sea, searching every centimeter of the narrow strip of dune vegetation. They had found a few fishermen's shacks, but they appeared long-abandoned. Other than that, not a soul was to be seen.

And then, early in the morning, they had come upon an obscured entrance that opened up under one of the root systems of a dune tree. It was barely two meters across and one meter high, but passing through, it widened into a passageway high enough for a man to stand upright and wide enough to accommodate five men abreast.

Standing at the threshold, Yumichika had known there was something inside. Something he had never sensed before. Not a hollow. Not any kind of familiar spiritual pressure. It was stifling, oppressive, and strangely alluring.

Lieutenant Kusajishi, sensing the presence of something her captain would definitely be interested in, had ordered Yumichika to keep whatever it was from escaping while she went and notified Zaraki. With her speed and uncanny ability to track down the captain no matter where he was, she could be back within minutes.

Now, only five minutes later, Yumichika was thinking she could not get back soon enough. No sooner had she departed than trouble had begun.

Two of the more senior squad members, already miffed at the fact of a new arrival being seated ahead of them; even more offended by that new arrival's delicate appearance; and chewing on the final straw of that newly seated officer defeating the hollow they had been hoping to fight; had decided that they would prove their superiority by dispatching this enemy before Captain Zaraki arrived, then they would have gloating rights – an important factor in Squad Eleven.

Disregarding Yumichika's admonishment to venture no further than just inside the entrance to the passageway, the two men had rushed past him into the darkness. A moment later, their screams were brief and then silenced.

The rest of the squad had surged forward, held back only by Yumichika's spread arms and tenuous insistence on some semblance of order. God help him if they tried to push past, for he would not be able to stop them.

But then, out of the darkness into the stream of light filtering in from the entrance, came something none of them had expected or ever imagined. It was a cloud of black . . . dust? It was impossible to tell its makeup. Small, swirling slowly, skeletal fingers snaking out then receding. No discernible head or limbs. Just a cloud.

And just as Yumichika had feared, its appearance had set a fire burning in the small brains of the men behind him. At least five or six pushed past him, slicing at the air with their swords.

"Get back here!" Yumichika called out, but it was too late.

The cloud sent forth its skinny fingers, and whatever they touched melted away into nothingness.

Seeing this, the rest of the detail had halted in their tracks, but now, nearly a minute later, they were growing restless again. It was taking all of Yumichika's thread-bare authority to keep them from rushing.

But then, suddenly, it was as if the others didn't even exist.

Looking at the cloud, Yumichika felt as if he had been pinpointed, almost as if he were being regarded and isolated. And then he had the sensation that the attention was shifting towards . . .

Ruri'iro Kujaku.

A single black finger snaked forward.

Yumichika did not move. He stood mesmerized, staring at the wisp of black moving closer to his zanpakuto.

"Why isn't he moving?! Why doesn't he do something?!"

"Flashy, what's going on?" Hoozukimaru demanded, seeing his companion in the near throes of panic.

"It's coming towards him—"

"What's coming towards him?!"

"This thing we're feeling—it's a cloud! It's—he's going to die! I can't let this happen!"

Hoozukimaru put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down—" He cut off abruptly as the air around them began to shimmer, and he could almost see—no, he could definitely see the pale image of some other place – an underground tunnel of some sort, filled with Shinigami, filled with chaos.

"What—what are you doing?" he asked, awe and alarm in his voice.

Ruri'iro Kujaku ignored him. He had something much more dire to worry about.

"_Master!"_

Yumichika heard Ruri'iro's voice, but he ignored it. He could not pull his attention away from the cloud, even as it reached out towards his zanpakuto.

Around him, the other squad members rushed forward, waving their weapons through the cloud . . . coming to the same gruesome end upon contact with their flesh.

And still, Yumichika stood hypnotized, his arm and his zanpakuto now hanging down at his side.

Suddenly, the passageway and the area just outside it began to change color.

Nothing else had shaken Yumichika out of his stupor, but this did. He recognized the nature of the colors immediately; and the enemy's hold on him could not withstand the his determination to protect the secret of his weapon.

"No . . . No!" He cried out. "NO!"

The colors continued to intensify.

"I command you! Stop!" Yumichika shouted, unheard in the mayhem, taking a step back just as the snake of cloud was about to touch his weapon. He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders as an explosion of light cut across the passageway.

The natural colors were restored. The black cloud was gone.

Someone pulled him out of the passage.

* * *

Hoozukimaru shielded his eyes against the flash of blinding light.

He had no idea what had just happened, but when he opened his eyes again, Ruri'iro Kujaku was gone. He looked around him. The room was unchanged.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku?" he said in a tentative voice. Receiving no response, he raised the volume. "Flashy? Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

He jumped down from the bed and looked beyond the shifting, tapestry-covered walls into the open space beyond, where the vines, the mirrors and the cages drifted silently.

No sign of the peacock.

He drew in a deep breath. "Ruri'iro Kujaku!" he called out with all the force he could muster. His voice did not echo. It drifted away into the silence.

"Damn," he said under his breath. "Where the hell are you?"

* * *

Yumichika stumbled along beside the person pulling him from the passageway. Once outside in the light, he looked up to see that it was Ikkaku who had dragged him to safety.

"Ikkaku?"

"Stay here. Just _stay here_," Ikkaku said forcefully, then he ran back through the mouth of the passageway.

It was almost a minute before anyone emerged, and among those returning were Ikkaku and Captain Zaraki.

"What happened here?" Zaraki asked. "We didn't find anything inside."

Yumichika stiffened beneath his captain's hard stare. "After Lieutenant Kusajishi went back to get you, some of the men tried to rush the enemy. As soon as they touched the cloud, they disintegrated. I held the others back, but they all wanted to fight—"

"Of course they wanted to fight," Zaraki interjected. "That's what we do in Squad Eleven."

"But there was no way to fight it, Captain," Yumichika insisted. "If it touched you, that was it. Your body would just disintegrate."

"So, what happened when we got here? Everything started to change color. And what was that flash of light?" the captain went on. "Then we went in there, and whatever it was, was gone."

Yumichika faltered. "I—I don't know. The cloud started reaching out towards me—"

At this point, another one of the Shinigami who had been standing nearby, spoke up.

"Excuse me, Captain, but I was there the whole time," the man interrupted. "And I can tell you that the enemy wasn't going after Fifth Seat Ayasegawa; it was going after his zanpakuto."

A pallid mask of something very close to horror came over Yumichika's face. He had hoped to keep that little detail under wraps.

"Is that true?" Zaraki asked.

"Yes, Captain," Yumichika answered.

"What would it want with your zanpakuto?"

"I don't know," came the truthful answer. "I—I couldn't feel anything from it except . . . malevolence." He omitted the part about his inability to respond to the being, his near paralysis as it had approached him.

"Well, whatever it was, it's gone now," Zaraki groused. "Looks like you're the one getting all the action on this patrol."

Here was an opportunity for Yumichika to play the part. In the face of the loss of at least a dozen men, to be worried about a missed opportunity for combat seemed callous; but clearly, Captain Kenpachi Zaraki was not very upset about the deaths and was more disappointed by the fact that there was no enemy for him to fight.

"You said you wanted men who could fight," Yumichika said, scrounging up a smugness he didn't feel.

"Mm," Zaraki grunted. "Doesn't sound like there was much of a fight here." The maniacal grin appeared. "But I would have liked to take a shot at it."

"You may still get your chance, Captain," Ikkaku stated. "We don't know if it was destroyed by that flash of light or if it got away in the confusion."

_That flash of light._

Yumichika's thoughts swarmed to Ruri'iro Kujaku. The light that had torn across the passageway was the same as that which had preceded the imprisonment of the reikon. Could Yumichika have effected the same action from the outside world? And had it been that action that had defeated the enemy? He obviously had stopped Ruri'iro Kujaku from manifesting, but what else had he done? Had he harmed his zanpakuto? Given the confusion of the moment, he could not even be sure that the burst of light had been his own doing. What if the cloud had caused it? What if Ruri'iro Kujaku had been injured?

He needed to find out. And he needed to find out now.

"I think it would be a good idea to check the outside area, Captain," he suggested, not because he really believed it would be a good idea, but because he needed to find a place alone where he could go to his inner world without disturbance. "The being may have gotten out of the passageway without us seeing it."

Captain Zaraki gave a single nod. There might still be a chance for a confrontation. He gave the order to spread out.

* * *

Hoozukimari was not easily frustrated or angered. Unlike his master, he had a long fuse – maybe even a lazy fuse, not given to outbursts of emotion positive or negative. He had never known fear. Not even the prospect of being tossed aside and replaced by another sword had moved him to anything more than disgust. He was lackadaisical and even-tempered. Thus far, there had been nothing that could induce him to violent emotion.

But he was getting close to it now.

He'd been searching for Ruri'iro Kujaku for the last twenty minutes with no success. He could not feel the peacock's reiatsu at all. It was a situation he'd experienced before - not being able to feel his spiritual pressure. And he recalled the circumstances under which it had happened, as Ruri'iro Kujaku had recounted it to him. His master had been angry and imprisoned him in one of the cages.

Hoozukimaru was sure that was what had happened this time – only Ruri'iro's master had managed it from the outside world. Now, that was an impressive display of power. Right or wrong, it was a feat not easily accomplished against such a powerful zanpakuto. Still, Hoozukimaru doubted that Ruri'iro Kujaku would appreciate his master's ability.

Standing at the edge of the lake in the peacock cave, the dragon himself was flustered. He had searched the places known to him and found nothing. Ruri'iro Kujaku's world was huge, and Hoozukimaru was not of a mind to go exploring. But neither was he going to leave without finding Ruri'iro Kujaku.

He looked across the still expanse of water. On the far side was a tunnel that he had seen every time since coming to this world, but he had never taken it.

He took it now.

And something immediately told him he had made the right decision. It wasn't the presence of Ruri'iro's reiatsu, for he felt none. It wasn't any logical deduction, for the dragon was not a deductive creature. It was a feeling in his gut – nothing else.

He came first to a frosted cave of blue ice, beautiful and sparkling, ambient light radiating from the crystals that covered every centimeter. It was a calming, soothing place - so much so that Hoozukimaru almost didn't want to leave. But his search had not ended, and he pressed on further down the tunnel until he came to a place in every way opposite the cave he had just left.

This cave was stiflingly hot, filled with molten rock, lava flows, with wisps of flame appearing intermittently in midair.

And in the center of the cave, floating high above the cavern floor, rotating slowly, was a brilliantly gilded golden cage.

With a single occupant.

Hoozukimaru immediately felt a spike of fury plunge through his heart. For all he had told Ruri'iro Kujaku about being docile and acquiescent, about not giving his master a reason to act against him, seeing it now . . . it was horrible. It was inhumane.

It was cruel.

With a single, powerful leap, he sprang up to the cage, but found that he could not grasp the bars. An invisible barrier kept him fingers from past the outer perimeter. He managed to rebound on the narrow fosse-like lip below the cage floor and running around the full circumference of the cage. From there, he sprang to the top of the cage, where he could get a good purchase. He lowered onto his belly and looked over the top.

Ruri'iru Kujaku was staring up at him in surprise.

"Hoozukimaru . . . "

There was no glibness in the dragon's demeanor. "Are you okay?" he asked, even though he could see clearly that he was not.

"My master—is he alright?" came the desperate inquiry.

"I—I don't know," Hoozukimaru answered. "I think my master's with him now, but I've been focused on trying to find you, so I don't know. But he can't be dead, or else you wouldn't exist anymore."

"He could be hurt—"

"Okay, okay, stop worrying. Let me see what's happening." Hoozukimaru straightened up and closed his eyes in concentration. A few seconds later, he leaned over the edge again. "My master's not with yours, but I don't sense any urgency or upset on his part; so chances are little pretty is just fine."

Ruri'iro Kujaku stood with hunched shoulders. "I don't—how could he do this to me? I was trying to protect him. Couldn't he see what was going to happen?"

"What _was_ happening?" Hoozukimaru asked.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had forgotten that Hoozukimaru, although able to sense the cloud's existence, had not been able to see the goings-on, given that his own master had not been present.

"That thing was coming for my master," Ruri'iro Kujaku explained, neglecting to mention that it had really been coming after him. His own safety had somehow ceased to be important even to himself in the face of impending danger to Yumichika. "And he just stood there. It was like he couldn't move. I had to do something."

"You were going to go into the outside world."

"I was. But he stopped me. That wicked thing—that mass of dark energy—he wouldn't react to that, but the moment I began to extend this world into his—" He could not go on, so virulent were his emotions.

"He shut you down," Hoozukimaru completed the sentence.

"I had to save him," Ruri'iro Kujaku said, "And he wouldn't let me." His eyes reflected a pain so deep, Hoozukimaru thought it could have no boundary. After several seconds, Ruri'rio groaned, "He said he would never do this to me again. And I was trying to help him . . . how could he do this?"

It was a good question, one to which Hoozukimaru had no answer. There _was_ no good answer. For a master to treat his zanpakuto in such a belittling, demeaning way – it was inexcusable.

"I'd like to teach him a thing or two," the dragon said at last.

"Nothing's ever going to change," the caged bird lamented. "When he won't even let me save his life, that means I've lost him forever."

"Now, you're being overdramatic," Hoozukimaru chided. "This was wrong of him, and he needs to be taught a lesson—" He cut off suddenly.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Ruri'iro Kujaku asked.

"I think little pretty just entered your world. I—I can't be sure, but something's changed," came the uncertain reply.

"You—you'd better go," Ruri'iro warned.

"Neh," Hoozukimaru deferred. "You wanted me to stay here before. I think maybe now is the time."

"No! No, now's not the time," Ruri'iro fretted. "Before I wanted to prove your existence and show him you were Madarame's zanpakuto; but right now, if he sees you here, in my world, he'll be furious! Please, go back! Hurry before he gets here! You have to get back to the pool!"

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive! Go! Hurry!"

With that, Hoozukimaru leapt down to the cavern floor and headed for the cave of the peacocks.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 Last Embrace

_"Somewhere on this crazy island  
__a familiar stranger sleeps so far away."_

_Who Are You Now  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

The maroon room had been empty. The shrine had been empty. The open spaces above the waving field of peacock feathers, the cliffs above the dark sea – empty.

And now, here he was in the cave of the peacocks, and still Ruri'iro Kujaku was nowhere to be found.

Yumichika felt his own fear hovering somewhere just outside present considerations. He could not sense even the smallest bit of Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu; and that would make it difficult to find him. It could take weeks or months. For all Yumichika knew, Ruri'iro Kujaku could be imprisoned in some as yet unexplored part of the inner world.

And when he finally did find him, what then?

His thoughts were filled with memories of a terrified, caged animal. The desperate, frenzied attempts to escape. The wrenching pleas for release. He could never forget the sound of Ruri'iro Kujaku's voice calling out to him, begging to be set free, as he had returned to the outer world. Nor could he erase the picture of the dejected, morose peacock that he had discovered upon his return. The accusations of betrayal. The undeniable hurt beneath the cold exterior.

He feared that more of the same awaited him now. Wherever Ruri'iro Kujaku was, once Yumichika found him, it could not be a pleasant scene.

He leapt into the air and skimmed over the surface of the lake, his movement creating a tiny ripple in his wake. He entered the tunnel on the far side and dropped to his feet. He came first to the ice cave; but even though it represented the regulator of his emotions, he felt no more at peace than he had when he had entered his inner world.

He walked on until he came to the fire cave, stopping on the threshold.

He didn't like this place. It was too dangerous, too unpredictable. And just too damned hot.

But it was where he needed to be. He could feel it. Not Ruri'iro Kujaku's presence or his reiatsu. No, it felt as if . . . as if the eyes of a stranger were boring into him.

Not a stranger . . .

He raised his head up towards the roof of the cavern. High above the churning and bubbling floor of molten rock, the golden bars shone red and gleaming.

Staring down at him from between those bars was Ruri'iro Kujaku, revealed once again in perfect clarity.

From this distance, Yumichika could not read the expression on the reikon's face; but he did not need any visual to tell him things were about to get tense. Bracing himself with a slow, deep breath, he soared up to land on the lip of the cage.

Ruri'iro Kujaku's stare was unflappable, but Yumichika was determined to be equally steadfast. He found himself, not unexpectedly, contemplating the flawless beauty of the being on the other side of the bars. It was not possible to look at Ruri'iro Kujaku's unobscured face and body without experiencing the ravenous desire to possess him; and the longer Yumichika stood there with riveted eyes, the greater that desire grew.

"Are you going to free me?" Ruri'iro Kujaku asked quietly.

"Why did you try to come out when I've told you not to," Yumichika replied, his voice neutral.

"Because you were going to be killed by that thing," came the answer. "It was coming after you, and you weren't moving. It was as if you were hypnotized."

"It was _you_ it was coming after," Yumichika countered. "And you know that."

Ruri'iro Kujaku hesitated a moment. "Yes, I know that. But that doesn't change things. You weren't doing anything to save me. I had to protect both of us." He scowled. "You didn't trap me in here to protect me. You did it to keep me from coming out, to keep the others from finding out about me. If I hadn't tried to come out, you'd be dead –and me with you. The only thing that moved you to act was the threat of me revealing myself. Possible death wasn't enough to jar you into action, but the idea of me revealing myself . . . that was? I just don't understand, master."

Yumichika was silent. A peculiar swirl of thought and emotion was coming together inside him. In facing Ruri'iro Kujaku now, he was not looking at the terrified, violent creature he had seen at the previous caging. He was seeing a powerful and defiant being that had been reduced to baying at the wind, in a manner of speaking. Within the cage, surely the peacock still retained his power; but that power was now fully contained.

And something about that set of circumstances found a surprising place of welcome in Yumichika's thoughts.

Seeing that his master was not going to say anything, Ruri'iro Kujaku sighed. "Release me."

Yumichika drew himself out of his growing reverie. He recalled how, last time, he had passed his hand through the bars and the cage had begun to vanish. He put the tips of his fingers just beyond the bars, but then as the ornate prison began to dissipate, he pulled his hand back. The bars solidified again.

"What—what are you doing?" Ruri'iro Kujaku asked, sounding more animated than a moment ago.

Yumichika said nothing, only regarding him with a deepening gaze.

"Are you going to keep me trapped in here?"

Somehow, Yumichika knew he was on the verge of learning something that Ruri'iro Kujaku could not teach him, something the reikon would most likely protest and fight against. Still, he was going to do it. He was going to try. He had to. He had to know just how far his control over this being could go.

It took a conscious effort and a forced decision, but Yumichika stepped forward. The first test would be the bars themselves. By sheer force of will, he passed bodily through them and entered the cage, which did not disappear.

Now that he was inside, he could feel Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu once again – his power and allure. He could still see him clearly. He could feel the mix of emotions filling the cage, all the more potent due to their concentration inside a limited space.

Ruri'iro Kujaku regarded him in surprise.

Yumichika stood directly in front of him, undaunted.

At last, the reikon asked, "Why—why did you come in here?"

"Because I needed to see if I could," Yumichika replied. "I needed to know, for certain, that this world belongs to me and is at my control." With that, he stepped back outside onto the lip of the fosse, and still the cage remained intact. "I can move in and out of this cage at will, just like you can move in and out of the outside world. But when you're in here, you can't get out unless I let you." He stepped inside again.

Ruri'iro Kujaku scowled. "So what?"

Yumichika went on. "So, there's really only one way I can control you. And this is it."

"Good for you," the peacock snapped with angry flippancy, turning away and storming to the opposite side of the cage.

"It _is_ good for me," Yumichika agreed, adding, "But when I'm in here, we're on even footing."

Ruri'iro spoke without facing him. "So, you _do_ intend to keep me in here."

"No."

A moment later, Ruri'iro felt the touch of his master's hand on his back.

"I know you were trying to save me," Yumichika admitted. "I can't be angry at you for that."

The reikon sidestepped out of reach. "You have _no_ reason to be angry at me." He turned with a burning glare in his eye. "But I have every reason to be angry at you."

"We both have our reasons," Yumichika countered gently. He did not want a fight. At that moment, he wanted something much different. "But do you really want to go on this way?"

"I don't care," Ruri'iro Kujaku huffed, again turning away with a childish petulance.

"Yes, you do," Yumichika persisted, stepping up to once again try and win back the unhappy peacock with his touch. "It's too late to try and say you don't care. I know you do."

"And what does that matter? It hasn't done me any good. It's only made the situation that much more unbearable." Ruri'iro Kujaku again shrugged off his master's hand. "At least, if I act like it doesn't matter to me, it makes it easier to pretend."

"To pretend?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku spoke back over his shoulder. "That I don't love you."

Yumichika was flummoxed. "Why would you want to pretend you don't love me?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku shook his head. "You are astoundingly ignorant."

"Then enlighten me," Yumichika insisted. "You've said since the very beginning that you loved me, that you loved me more than anything. Why would you want to pretend now that you don't?"

The reikon still had his back to him. He spoke slowly and precisely, as if he did not want a single word to be lost in the conveying. "Because I don't _want_ to love you anymore. And if I pretend long and hard enough, I will truly stop loving you. Then it won't matter what you do to me."

Those words, spoken against the backdrop of the fire cave, hit Yumichika like a wall of flame. They had been delivered with a calmness that belied the emotional turmoil of what their surroundings represented, but they burned with an intensity that could not be denied.

It was several seconds before Yumichika could reply.

"I don't want you to stop loving me."

"Huh! What would it matter to you? The only thing you care about is keeping me hidden," Ruri'iro pushed back. "You don't want anyone to see my released form. You won't let me manifest. You don't even let me have access to seeing and hearing the outside world. I have to go around you and hope you don't find a way to know when I'm doing it so you can shut me inside even more." A pause. "I doubt any of the other Shinigami treat their zanpakuto this badly."

"Have you been going around my defenses?" Yumichika asked, and he did not sound angry.

"Sometimes. Often," came the prideful reply, spoken with an arrogant flip of the head.

"Then haven't you noticed . . . there are _never_ any manifested zanpakuto spirits walking around," Yumichika pointed out.

Ruri'iro Kujaku turned and faced him with a blank expression.

Yumichika pursued. "You hadn't noticed?" Then, seeing that no answer was immediately forthcoming, he went on. "Maybe other zanpakuto can't come out unless their masters draw them out. Maybe you're different because of your kido nature." A pause. "Or maybe, the other zanpakuto are more obedient to their masters."

"Or maybe the other Shinigami also keep their zanpakutos locked up," Ruri'iro said, his inflection harsh and yet bordering on despair.

Such dejection stirred Yumichika's heart. He hated seeing the reikon this way, but he'd honestly felt he'd had no choice. Ruri'iro Kujaku was willful, and Yumichika had to be firm in dealing with him. But he did not want to see their relationship reduced to one of utility. He knew precisely what such a relationship entailed and how it felt. He'd had plenty of experience in that area.

"I know this was all my fault. I . . . I did it all wrong," he conceded. "But it can't be too late to fix it."

"Fix . . . what?"

"_This._ This . . . relationship. The way a zanpakuto is supposed to be with its master," Yumichika replied. "I didn't know how to interact with you. I didn't have anyone to teach me. I should have known better, but . . . I just went ahead and did what felt good, and now we're . . . in this mess."

Ruri'iro Kujaku stared at him, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Yumichika hesitated before answering. "The way you and I came to know each other isn't the way it's done between most zanpakuto and their masters. If I had known the right way, if I'd had instruction, maybe we wouldn't have ended up hating each other."

The color drained from Ruri'iro Kujaku's face. "Hate?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Yumichika realized right away that he had spoken too strongly.

"I guess hate isn't the right word," Yumichika replied. "But you know things aren't the way they should be between us. You don't behave like other zanpakuto."

"I—I don't understand what you're saying," Ruri'iro said, shaking his head.

Yumichika sighed. "It's . . . not normal for a zanpakuto to just manifest in the outside world whenever he feels like and go walking around . . ." He let the sentence drop, unsure of how to finish.

But Ruri'iro had something to say. "Maybe it's not normal, but am I just any other zanpakuto? Am I to be treated like any other?"

"I just don't want—I don't want you to stand out—"

"You don't want me to stand out?" The kujaku was incredulous. "How can you say something so ludicrous? Do you think that one as beautiful as I am should be forced into obscurity? I _should _stand out. You should want the entire Soul Society to see me."

"Ruri'iro Kujaku—"

"Who cares what other Shinigami do with their zanpakuto," Ruri'iro pressed on. "Maybe other zanpakuto can't even come out on their own—"

"That's not the point, kimi," Yumichika interrupted. "The point is that there is a way that I'm supposed to communicate with you; and by not doing it, I may have messed up things between us."

After a breathless pause, Ruri'iro Kujaku spoke. "You _do_ hate me."

"No, no, I told you . . . that was a bad choice of words—"

"But you wish I were something else," Ruri'iro accused sadly. "You wish you had a zanpakuto with different abilities."

Yumichika stepped closer and put his hands on the kujaku's bare arms, keenly aware of the feel of the warm skin beneath his fingers and the energy flowing into his body.

"That's not true," he said with quiet sincerity. "I might wish you were more obedient, but I'd never wish for another zanpakuto. I know how powerful you are, and I'm glad to be the master of that power. You know what I'm afraid of, but I don't want that to come between us."

He reached up to draw the reikon's head down to his own and kissed him tenderly.

Ruri'iro Kujaku felt a shudder run through his body. How was it possible that, even after all the acrimony between them, he still was not immune to his master's touch? He could so easily fall under his master's spell. And his master was here wooing him. That had not happened in a long time. Wasn't this what he had desired? How could he say no to such attention?

"What was that for?" he asked.

Yumichika kissed him again, barely a brush of the lips, then answered, "You responded when I released you. You saved my life. Again."

"I've told you . . . I would never refuse to release," Ruri'iro told him.

"I guess the idea of . . . of losing you . . . " Yumichika fumbled through his words, uncertain how to say what he wanted to express without seeming weak. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I'm surprised you feel that way," Ruri'iro Kujaku stated, but he was not snide about it. It was simply a statement of the truth.

"I know things aren't the way they used to be, but that doesn't mean I don't want or need you anymore," Yumichika explained. He took a step back and held Ruri'iro at arm's length. "You must believe me."

The kujaku wanted to believe him. But it wasn't that easy. "Will you stay for a while?"

"I can't right now," Yumichika replied regretfully, feeling guilty that the first thing Ruri'iro Kujaku has asked for as proof of his master's desire to revive their relationship could not be immediately fulfilled. "I'm supposed to be out searching for that cloud. But I'll come to you soon, in the next day or two. We're supposed to go back to the Seireitei tonight, so I'll have more privacy."

Ruri'iro Kujaku gave a measured nod.

Yumichika could see that his zanpakuto was unconvinced, so he pressed closed, reached up and took Ruri'iro Kujaku's face in his hands, drawing his head down to kiss him once again with feeling.

"There is one benefit to these cages," Yumichika said cheekily. "I can see you clearly."

Ruri'iro Kujaku grunted dubiously.

With that, Yumichika consciously dissolved the cage, leaving the two of them hovering in midair.

Before departing, Yumichika summoned the courage to ask, "Do you still want to be free of me?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku did not answer right away. At last, he replied, "That will depend on what happens in the coming days."

"Fair enough," Yumichika replied, watching as the halo of swirling color once again enveloped the reikon. "I'll be back soon."

Ruri'iro responded, "I'll be waiting."

Ruri'iro Kujaku remained hovering as his master departed.

He feared he would be waiting a long time. He feared that, despite Yumichika's assurances, he had just felt his master's last embrace.

* * *

"You didn't find anything?"

Yumichika detected a subtle mocking tone in Ikkaku's voice, but he understood it perfectly well. He replied evenly, "Not a thing."

"I'm surprised," Ikkaku stated. "You seem to be a magnet for attracting enemies."

"Maybe I'm just good at finding them," Yumichika replied with a teasing smile. "You don't need to be jealous."

"Jealous?! I'm not jealous! I just think it's unusual that you ended up finding the hollow _and _this other entity," Ikkaku stated. "Is that another one of your zanpakuto's powers?"

"It's _my own_ power," Yumichika sniffed. "And as you well know, I _am_ very good at detecting spiritual pressure."

Ikkaku grinned. He loved when Yumichika acted cocky.

"Okay, then. You find 'em, but at least leave the fighting to me. That way, I can get some enjoyment out of it," he stated.

Yumichika flipped his head. "What makes you think I don't enjoy it?"

"You? You want me to believe you suddenly enjoy fighting? That's too big a change," Ikkaku protested.

"Maybe the better I get at it, the more I like it," came the quick response.

Ikkaku wasn't sure whether or not to take him seriously. "You like to joke around."

"Do you think I'm joking?"

"I don't—"

"Here you two are!" It was Lieutenant Kusajishi, popping up in the nerve-wracking, unexpected manner that characterized her arrivals. "You'd better hurry up! Kenny's been waiting for you so we can go back!"

"We're coming, lieutenant," Ikkaku replied.

Yumichika drew in a relieved breath. He was glad the patrol was coming to an end. Four weeks of field living. He hadn't felt this disgusting since . . . since coming to the Seireitei.

"At last," he smiled. "I can't wait to take a decent bath."

"Agh, who needs a bath?" Ikkaku snorted, holding out his arms in a strange display of filth and stink. "I like being like this."

Yumichika shook his head in resignation. "You are so weird."

* * *

Three days later.

"Okay, what's going on? You're grinning like you've got something up your sleeve."

Yumichika looked over at Ikkaku's query and posited an almost demur smile. "Nothing's going on. I met some other Shinigami while we were out on patrol, and I'm going to meet one of them tonight."

Ikkaku was lounging among the pillows in Yumichika's room. Three days had passed since the Eleventh Squad had returned from patrol, and Ikkaku had just come from a meeting with Captain Zaraki about a transfer officer who was due in the following week. Zaraki had wanted him to keep an eye on the inbound, as the man had a reputation that preceded him – even though it was a reputation for excellence. Zaraki was not a trusting man.

Ikkaku, unhappy with his assignment, had left the captain's office and come straight to Yumichika's room to bemoan his situation, only to find the room empty. But the sound of water from the bath closet had told him Yumichika was there. He'd made himself comfortable and had almost fallen asleep when Yumichika came into the room wearing his bathrobe. After a perfunctory greeting, Yumichika had gone straight to the garderobe and busily engaged himself in going through its contents one by one.

Ikkaku had noticed the bounce in his step immediately and inquired about it. Yumichika's brief explanation about going out to meet someone did not dissuade him.

"Neh . . . you're not getting off that easy. There's something else. I can even feel it in your reiatsu. What are you so excited about?"

"I liked the people I met—"

"You've met plenty of Shinigami since we came here. What's so great about the ones you met on patrol?" Ikkaku probed. "I didn't meet anyone who stood out as anything special."

"That's because you weren't with me. And honestly, Ikkaku, other than Captain Zaraki, you don't think anyone is special." Yumichika went from outfit to outfit, searching for the suitable combination of flamboyance and sophistication. His encounter with Rangiku had suddenly made him not care so much about fitting in – at least, not from an aesthetic standpoint. Her own beauty had made him want to flaunt his, and the right clothes were a part of the presentation. He wanted to be his most beautiful for her.

Ikkaku chuckled to himself and shook his head. "You say the stupidest things sometimes."

Yumichika, completely unperturbed, replied melodically, "You _do_ the stupidest things sometimes."

"And yet, here you are, right beside me through every stupid move I make," Ikkaku pointed out, to which Yumichika merely gave an unseen smirk. Ikkaku got up and moved over to join him at the garderobe. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to decide what to wear," Yumichika replied.

"Where are you meeting this new acquaintance?" Ikkaku asked.

"Some place called The Marble Fountain," Yumichika replied.

"The Marble Fountain? Never heard of it. What kind of place is it?"

Yumichika detected the intended snideness in Ikkaku's voice, and he was tempted to exploit it, but he decided better and answered simply. "I think it's a sake bar."

"You? Going to a sake bar? Yumichika, you barely touch the stuff," Ikkaku said doubtfully. "Why would you go to a sake bar?"

"For the same reason I've accompanied you to sake bars for all these years," Yumichika answered. "For the company."

"Where is this place?" Ikkaku asked, growing inexplicably suspicious. Was it his protectiveness of Yumichika resurfacing? It had lain dormant for so long, he was not sure he even recognized it anymore.

"Over by Squad Ten."

"Your new friends are from Squad Ten?"

Yumichika nodded, withdrawing a wisteria-colored kimono from the garderobe. It was simple and elegant – not too ostentatious and the perfect implement to bring out the violet in his eyes.

"But why are you changing? Why aren't you going to meet them in your uniform?" Ikkaku asked, and he could not keep the teasing lilt out of his voice. "You've been wearing your uniform off-duty most of the time. Makes me wonder what's so special about these people you're going to meet that you want to dress up for them."

"I just felt like it," Yumichika replied. "You know how much I hate limiting myself to a single look, black and white, at that. This is one time I figured I could take a chance on standing out."

Ikkaku watched him get dressed in silence. He heared Yumichika chatter away about unimportant things, but he wasn't really paying attention. For some reason he could not explain, it seemed odd to him that Yumichika was going out without him.

But Yumichika venturing out on his own was a good thing. That was for certain. Yumichika needed to make friends here in the Gotei 13, even if Ikkaku didn't feel the same need for himself. He'd be fine alone – he'd been a loner most of his existence. Yumichika, on the other hand, needed other people. This would be a step in the right direction and help him fit in – unless the violet evening wear ruined everything.

"You, uh, you sure you want to wear that?" he asked as Yumichika headed for the door.

"Positive," Yumichika replied. He stepped outside. "I'll come over if it's not too late when I get back."

Ikkaku actually found himself rooting for the violet kimono to ruin the evening and deliver an early return of its wearer.

* * *

Rangiku was tired of shooing people away.

Maybe this hadn't been the best idea for a place to meet and have private, intimate conversation. Everyone at _The Fountain_ knew her. Of course, they did. She came here often enough. She liked to drink. She liked company. She liked to laugh. Sometimes the booze, the noise, and the laughter were the only things that made the day – or the night – tolerable.

A month ago, she would have been ready to drink herself into oblivion. Four weeks of fruitless patrolling in the outer districts, following the scant remains of a reiatsu trail that had ultimately led nowhere. She really did not like the outer districts. True, there were some places of beauty, a smattering of decent souls. But for the most part, there was little to commend the lower numbers.

One day in the Rukongai was one day too long. She had come from there and had no desire to go back; yet as a Shinigami, it was unavoidable. All souls needed protecting, not just the ones in the Seireitei and its immediate surroundings.

This last patrol had been particularly irksome, for it had turned up absolutely nothing. Squad Ten had been following the faded trail of the presumed bomber, but after a few days, it had gone completely cold.

Rangiku had been ready to pack it in after the second day, but as fourth seat, she simply followed orders and scowled her disapproval.

But then on the last day of her patrol, something incredible had happened. A chance encounter with a soul she had saved many years ago had suddenly made the entire assignment seem like the work of something greater than fate.

Now, with a glass in her hand, she turned over in her mind the memory of that long ago meeting. She had never forgotten the terrified boy – young man – hiding under the bridge, his reluctance to accept her help, his fear of being rejected. She had never forgotten the moment he'd put a trembling hand in hers and stepped out into the brilliance of the winter light.

And she had never, _never_ forgotten his beauty. It hadn't been just a physical thing. There had been a beauty of spirit that was every bit as splendid as the soul that bore it. She had been easily able to discern the tender heart within the chest, and she'd been admittedly surprised by it. She was used to beautiful people often being self-centered, cold, and indifferent to others. But this boy had been different, and she had not understood why.

Until she went with him to see his family one last time.

That was when she saw the reason behind the sensitivity and, indeed, the reason behind the fear.

The family's home, a quite splendid place nestled in the midst of expansive gardens, had a small shrine attached. Inside the shrine, a teak-wood altar had pride of place against the rear wall, and arrayed upon and around the altar were pictures of family members and ancestors who had died.

The picture in the center, with two candles lit, one on either side, was of the boy she was preparing to take to Soul Society.

She saw the misshapen and disfigured face and body in the photograph. She witnessed first-hand the heartache of a family so grief-stricken that she feared the loss would tear them apart.

And now, as she sat staring into the hazy dimness of the sake bar, she remembered the moment when the soul of a dead child offered a final farewell to his mother and father, attempting to somehow break past the barrier of death and give them a sense of peace, an assurance that he would be safe.

Something had happened. A burst of spirit energy? A gift from whatever being ruled over all the realms of existence? Rangiku could not be sure. She only knew that her eyes had not deceived her. She had seen the mother and father react together as if they had heard or felt something wondrous. Some inkling of their dead child's presence? Some indication that life had not ended but was begun anew?

It had given them peace. A lasting peace. Rangiku had seen as much on subsequent missions to the living world. She'd always made a point of visiting the Ayasegawa home, and she knew peace when she saw it. While the void caused by Yumichika's death had never been filled and the pain never healed, she had seen firsthand that the family had come to view the emptiness and pain as a worthy burden, the price they willingly paid for ever having loved an _unwanted._ They lived in the hope that one day they would again see their child in the life that followed.

Rangiku had never told any of that to Yumichika.

She had checked on him quite frequently after first bringing him to Soul Society, although she had kept her presence hidden. It was considered unseemly for Shinigami to keep tabs on any of the souls they saved. Rangiku had never had any difficulty accepting and obeying that unspoken rule.

And then she'd met Yumichika. His vulnerability and sadness had moved her heart. His beauty had been a shocking revelation that somehow made his situation even more pitiable. She'd felt an immediate affection for him. Only one other soul had ever had such an impact on her, but she would not allow herself to dwell on that.

And so, she had gone every few weeks to see how Yumichika was adjusting to his new life in the meadow above a seaside town named Paikuu on the Ulandsee in one of the lower southern districts. He had appeared to be adapting just fine, and Rangiku was happy to think she had saved him. Her visits became less frequent as the years went on; there were so many other considerations and concerns that took her time and attention. Nearly five years after she'd brought him to Soul Society, the visits had fallen off completely. And then one day, on a whim as she went on patrol in the area, she decided to go take a look in the meadow.

But Yumichika was gone.

Rangiku figured he had finally grown comfortable with his beauty and being around other people. He had probably moved to one of the nearby towns or villages.

She did not try to find him. It was good that he had found his place in Soul Society. That's what souls were supposed to do: assimilate. And such a gentle soul must have found a peaceful, meaningful existence among those who would cherish him the way his family had.

Now, finally, she might have the opportunity to tell him what she had seen of his family after his departure for Soul Society.

"Rangiku?"

She lifted her head, her eyes going from the clear liquid in the glass on the table to the wisteria pools peering down at her with a sparkle that might come from the finest crystal.

"Yumichika!" She was enthusiastic. "Sit down, sit down."

Yumichika sat.

"Wow, that's some outfit you have on," Rangiku beamed. "I don't think I even own anything that beautiful."

"I made it," Yumichika stated. "I like to make clothes."

"You should be a tailor instead of a Shinigami," Rangiku poked, and she was surprised when he answered.

"I was." He smiled even wider at her look of surprise. "Before I came to the Seireitei, I used to make clothes and linens and all sorts of things. I sold them in the local area where I lived."

"Why am I not surprised? You look like you could make gorgeous things," Rangiku nodded appreciatively, then she asked, "How 'bout a drink? Here comes the waitress."

"What are you having?"

"This? It's called Enzian. It's sweet and hard. Packs a good punch," Rangiku said, lifting up the tiny glass and swirling the liquor. "It's made from the root of some flower that only grows way up in the mountains."

"I'll have the same thing."

Rangiku flagged down the stocky woman who was taking orders and who seemed to know "_Fourth Seat Matsumoto" _very well – an established customer.

"Fourth seat. That's pretty high up," Yumichika noted, as they waited for his drink to arrive.

"It's taken a long time to get there, believe me," came the reply. "Captain Qayyum doesn't give out promotions for just doing your job." A pause. "But that's not what I want to talk about. What about you? How on Earth did you end up becoming a Shinigami? And in Zaraki's Squad? You were so . . . you were a timid mouse when I brought you here."

"That was a long time ago, Rangiku." He paused and a shyness crept into his manner. "I'm not used to calling you that."

She smiled. "That's okay. You'll get used to it. So, come on. Tell me, what happened after you left the meadow? Where did you go? You know, I used to go check on you pretty often for a while, and then one day I went back and you were gone. Where did you go?"

"I don't remember you ever coming to check on me," Yumichika said, sounding perplexed.

"That's because I did it in secret. I didn't want you to know I was there," Rangiku explained. "As Shinigami, we're not supposed to keep track of the souls we bring to Soul Society. I'm sure Zaraki has told you that." Seeing his expression, she raised her eyebrows. "No? There are probably a lot of things he hasn't told you. Have you not been back to the world of the living yet on a mission?"

"Not yet," Yumichika replied. "It's only been a few months since I became a Shinigami. I'm still learning."

Matsumoto nodded and returned to original line of questioning. "So, what happened after the meadow?"

Yumichika could not help but look at her with the star-struck gaze of the awed. Her voice brought him back to the moment of their first meeting. Her blue eyes, perhaps a bit dilated with drink, were nonetheless stunning and held him riveted. Her obvious joy and enthusiasm at seeing him made him feel more content than he had felt in months.

"Do you want to know where I went after I left the meadow or how I became a Shinigami?" he asked.

"Both, both. Start with the meadow."

"Well, it was about . . . mm, five years after you brought me there. I guess I had grown pretty comfortable being in Soul Society. I was making a living with my sewing, but it was bothersome always coming down from the meadow, and . . . . and I wanted to be around other people. For the _first time ever_, I wanted to be around other people." He paused. "And they wanted to be around me. So, I went into Paikuu for a few months and then I moved across the Ulandsee to Mito. Do you know those places?"

"A little – from patrol. That's how I knew about the meadow where I left you. So, how did you end up here?"

Yumichika's enzian came. He took a small sip and felt his face flush immediately. This was _strong_ stuff. He feared he might actually start sweating. After clearing his throat, he continued. "I lived there for almost fifteen years and then I . . . " He had to choose his words carefully, for there was absolutely no way he would divulge the truth. It was too hurtful, too embarrassing, and he could not guess what Rangiku might think of him if she knew what he'd become and what had happened to him. " . . . I met someone who became my closest friend in all of Soul Society. He wanted to become a Shinigami, and I went with him."

"You became a Shinigami because your friend wanted to?" Rangiku sounded amazed.

Yumichika nodded. "He wasn't too excited about the idea of me coming with him at first, but now I think he's glad I did."

"Why didn't he want you to come?"

Yumichika took another sip. "He didn't think I'd fit in."

Rangiku was amused at this. "I think that was probably a legitimate concern. You don't really look like the fighting type, Yumichika."

"Yes, I know."

"But you got in. And into Kenpachi Zaraki's squad. That's—that's incredible," she said. "Are you a seated officer?"

"Fifth Seat." Yumichika grinned. He actually felt proud to say it.

"Fifth—fifth Seat? In Squad Eleven? You?" Now, Rangiku was incredulous.

"We both had to fight to get in and—"

"You mentioned that when we met out on patrol. What do you mean, you had to fight your way in? You didn't go through the Academy?"

Yumichika shrugged, feeling more self-important with each passing second. "We did it the same way Zaraki did. We fought our way in."

"You killed the Fifth Seat?"

"No, I—"

"Because that's how Zaraki became captain—by killing the previous one," Rangiku pointed out.

"We didn't have to kill anyone. We just had to fight other seated officers. I fought the fourth seat and beat him. But I didn't want to be fourth seat, because the number four is just . . . too ugly." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "So, I chose fifth seat. Ikkaku is third seat. He beat the Shinigami who had been third seat and took his place."

"Ikkaku. That's your friend?"

"Yes. Ikkaku Madarame."

"So, you both chose to go into Zaraki's squad." Rangiku looked bewildered and doubtful now. She was wondering what level of sanity she was dealing with.

"That's the only way Ikkaku would have it. He likes to fight, and Squad Eleven offered him the best chance to do so."

Rangiku shook her head in pondering wonder. "And you went with him. You must be very good. Squad Eleven is the best combat unit in the Gotei 13."

Yumichika shrugged. "I don't know if I'm _very_ good. But I'm good enough. There's still a lot for me to learn."

"You have a zanpakuto." It was statement and a question.

"Of course. We all have to have them, right?" Yumichika answered.

"I mean, do you know your zanpakuto? You're a seated officer, so you must have shikai," Rangiku prompted.

"I have shikai," Yumichika replied nonchalantly.

"Did you bring it with you?" Rangiku asked.

"No, no. I didn't want to bring him here."

"Why not? I bring Haineko everywhere, in case there's an emergency, you know?"

"Fuji Kujaku is very temperamental, and sometimes it's best if I just leave him be, let him spend time alone. We've had a rough time together lately, and I'm trying to put things back together between us," Yumichika replied.

"Believe me, Haineko is not easy to deal with, but I could never leave her behind. I never know when I might need her." She paused and smiled. "Do you remember . . . I used her to chill the air into crystals that day, so you could see yourself."

"I remember." He swallowed down a sudden surge of emotion. "The first time I saw the reflection of my soul . . . "

Rangiku could see the glassy sheen coming into his eyes, and she knew it wasn't the enzian. It was the memory of seeing his beauty for the first time and discovering that the sick body that had weighed him down and trapped him all his life had fallen away, leaving only the pureness of his soul. She reached out to touch his cheek in a gesture of comfort, but her fingers never make contact.

"What the hell is this? Are you drinking a woman's drink?"

Both Yumichika and Rangiku looked up in surprise as Yumichika's glass was snatched off the table and the remainder of its contents poured down the throat of . . .

Rangiku saw a rude, obnoxious bald-headed stranger wearing a Shinigami uniform, zanpakuto at his waist.

Yumichika saw Ikkaku.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Rangiku scowled, starting to get to her feet.

But the stranger plopped down into a sitting position beside Yumichika. "That was like drinking honey water."

Rangiku stood staring, mouth agape, wondering who would be so rude but fearing she already knew the answer.

"Rangiku . . . " Yumichika looked mortified and embarrassed. "Meet Ikkaku Madarame."

* * *

Three hours later, Yumichika sat leaning his cheek dejectedly into his hand and contemplating the possibility that introducing Ikkaku to Rangiku might have been one of the worst introductions he had ever made.

Apparently, there was something kindred in these spirits, for almost immediately upon Ikkaku joining them, the alcohol had begun to flow like a river. It was an unspoken competition as to who could consume the most – whether the poison be the _girly_ enzian or something more traditional, more masculine, and less tasteful.

It was a competition Yumichika sat out. He'd never been drunk and he didn't intend to start now.

The loud and boisterous good humor coming from at least two occupants of the table attracted a half dozen other patrons, all of whom Rangiku knew very well. She made introductions, but Yumichika paid little attention, other than at the arrival of a very pretty grey-haired woman who was a medic in Squad Four, and the unexpected and brief appearance of the captain of Squad Eight, Shunsui Kyoraku. Not that Captain Kyoraku needed an introduction. Yumichika had heard him described often enough that he would have recognized him anywhere.

He was a tall, striking figure of a man. He wore his wavy brown hair in a ponytail, topped with a straw hat. His face was handsome and scrub-bearded, giving him an almost buccaneer-like appearance. Over his captain's haori, he wore a pink, flowery kimono, which Yumichika appreciated as a very fine piece of work. A very enticing look, all told.

He did not stay long. Only a few minutes. Long enough to make a good impression on the lower-ranking officers before heading off to drink by himself, which was supposedly something he did often and preferred to any kind of public consumption.

Yumichika decided, even after only those few short minutes, that he liked the man very much. Aside from being pleasant to look at, Captain Kyoraku had gone to the extra effort of trying to show an interest in the officers and lower ranks. Yes, Yumichika found him very pleasing and was disappointed when he left to go to his own pursuits.

But Kyoraku's departure did not break up the party. It seemed only to get wilder and wilder as the evening wore on with drinking games and more and more people joining in.

The fun had long gone out of the evening for Yumichika, but he had to give credit to Rangiku. She could certainly hold her own against any comer, and she had been attentive to him the entire time. Of course, the conversation had turned from one of past memories and intimate discourse to one of bawdy and raucous cheer; from the shared experience of two souls to the communal buffoonery of many – and this was both tiresome and boring for Yumichika. But he had to be relieved that Rangiku, despite her state of drunkenness, was still aware enough to recall whom she had come here to meet and the secret they had agreed to keep hidden. She gave no hint that the two of them had met before, that she was the one who had brought him to Soul Society; and yet she somehow managed to convey to him that even at that moment, surrounded by many people now, the game was being played, the secret being kept. In its own way, it was amusing.

But by two o'clock in the morning, even the amusement of a shared secret had worn thin. Yumichika was tired and reaching his limit of tolerance for being around increasingly inebriated people.

"Ikkaku, I think it's time for us to head back," he said, putting a hand on Ikkaku's arm as the latter reached for the next round.

"Not yet," Ikkaku protested. "This is the most fun I've had since I've been here."

"You'll have other chances to come back and do it again," Yumichika said in a persuasive voice. "Come on now, it's late and you've had enough."

Rangiku reached across the table and pat Yumichika's hand on top of Ikkaku's arm. "He's right. We've all had enough. I'm going home, too. You—you go with Yumichika, Ikkaku. You need to go home. We all do," she rambled, her words running together. "But Yumichika, we'll get together again—where no one else can come."

This brought a round of lewd oohs and aahs from the assemblage.

Yumichika shrugged it off with an indulgent smile, then he got to his feet and led Ikkaku out of The Marble Fountain and back towards the Squad Eleven barracks.

"Damn, Yumichika," Ikkaku began directly. "You didn't tell me you were meeting a knockout."

"I didn't think it was necessary," Yumichika replied. "Besides, this was supposed to be an evening with just me and her."

"Are you mad at me?" Ikkaku asked in a teasing voice, draping an arm over Yumichika's shoulders.

"Maybe a little. Why did you come out tonight?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe," Ikkaku answered. Then he whispered in his ear, "You know you're a blockhead at making decisions—"

Yumichika threw his weight into him, partly in play, partly in rebuke. "And you're too drunk for me to take seriously."

"Yeah, well, that's cause—that's cause Matsumoto can drink! Boy, can she drink!" Ikkaku laughed.

"So I saw," Yumichika agreed. "But did you have to come and ruin the whole evening for me?"

"Ohhh, you don't have to be so dramatic about it," Ikkaku said, bending his arm to pull Yumichika closer. "Besides, it wasn't ruined. She liked you. Even I could see that." He stopped suddenly and in a moment of drunken grandeur, turned Yumichika towards him and poked an accusative finger in his chest. "Which, by the way, I don't get. Why were you out with a woman? I've never seen you . . . you never seemed interested in women. I thought . . . what is it with you?"

Yumichika looked at him for several seconds then shook his head. "You're too drunk." He started to walk again.

But Ikkaku stopped him. "No, I want to know. You're into men. Why were you with her?"

Yumichika crossed his arms and smirked. "First of all, you may not recall this, but I told you that not all my clients in Mito were men. I had plenty of women who bartered with me. Second of all, it was _business. _It's not like I was into men or into women. I was into surviving, making a living and having beautiful things. I was into whoever could provide me those things – male or female." Seeing the look coming over Ikkaku's face, he went on with increased vigor. "I was into having people tell me how beautiful I was, coveting and adoring me. Some of them practically worshipped me. I was into that." He took a step forward and spoke succinctly without once taking his eyes from Ikkaku's. "But I only ever loved one person. And yes, he is a man. And yes, he has made his feelings clear." He drew in a long, deep breath. "But I can love him without the sex. I can be into him with the sex. Because I have no choice."

Ikkaku stared hard at him for several seconds. Then he burst into laughter. "Just like I said! You're so dramatic! _I can love him without the sex. I can be into him with the sex," _he mocked. "Ohhh, Yumichika!" He tried to take him in an embrace, which Yumichika promptly evaded. He tried again and again until finally, Yumichika got tired of fleeing him.

"I swore I'd never let you get drunk again," Yumichika groaned as Ikkaku hung over him. "I hate it when you get all slobbery like this. It's not beautiful at all."

"Oh, come on, being this close to me isn't beautiful?"

"Your breath reeks of alcohol. You're practically drooling. Your speech is slurred. You're sweating like a pig. No, nothing about this is beautiful; and even if you did want me, right now I'd refuse you outright," Yumichika chastised. "Making fun of me doesn't help."

"Okay, I'm sorry." Ikkaku sounded anything but remorseful.

"No, you're not. But you will be tomorrow morning," Yumichika warned. "You're going to have a hangover like never before."

"Eh, what's a little hangover," Ikkaku shrugged carelessly. "You can take care of—hey, what's that?"

The sound of a man singing rang down the alley in which they were walking, bouncing off the walls and sailing up over the rooftops.

It was a cheerful voice. And to his surprise, Yumichika recognized the words.

_"Heel yo-ho boys! Let 'er go, boys! _

_Swing 'er head round!_

_Now all together!_

_Heel yo-ho boys! And we'll anchor_

_As the sun sets on Mend-o-lay!"_

It was an old boatmen's song, and it immediately brought thoughts of Kaekae to Yumichika's mind. He'd heard the old man sing it often. But this wasn't Kaekae's voice.

Already, Ikkaku was leaping up to the lowest rooftop, using it as a springboard to the higher levels. Yumichika followed, his insides twisting each time Ikkaku pushed off unsteadily and teetered upon each landing.

Coming at last to the vocalist, they were both surprised to find Captain Kyoraku sitting on a slant-away roof of terra cotta shingles, his back propped against a low, squat chimney, a bottle of something resting in his lap.

"Oh, Captain Kyoraku, we're sorry for disturbing you—" Yumichika began, but the Squad Eight captain cut him off.

"Ah, it's . . . Ya-yamchaka? Yamchaka and . . . oh, heck, I'll just call you Cue Ball," Kyoraku greeted them. "Care to join me?"

Ikkaku was at his side in an instant. "Cue Ball it is."

"Ikkaku . . . " Yumichika frowned, then knowing it would do no good appealing to Ikkaku, "Captain Kyoraku, thank you for the invitation, but we really should be getting back to the squad."

"Nonsense. Unless you have duty tomorrow. Do you have duty?" Kyoraku asked.

"No, but—"

"Then come sit down and relax a bit. You—I could tell even inside at the Fountain—you're high strung. You need to relax a bit. Come have a drink."

Ikkaku was already accepting the bottle from Captain Kyoraku's outstretched hand.

Yumichika heaved a sigh and sat down.

An already long night was about to get longer.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Dear Reader, Here is a nice short chapter! I hope you enjoy, since things are about to get complicated again! Peace, love and good vibes, The Kujaku**_

Chapter 6 Jinzen and the Smithy

_"I've been doing my best.  
__What else can I do?  
__Is there something I've missed  
__that will help me through?_

_After You Came  
_Graeme Edge

* * *

"Shunsui?"

An unfamiliar voice woke Yumichika from his sleep.

He had fallen asleep on the roof, his head resting on Ikkaku's leg. Ikkaku lay sprawled across the terra cotta tiles, mouth agape, snoring fitfully. And a couple feet away, Captain Kyoraku slumbered away in a manner that was much more dignified in appearance than Ikkaku's.

Neither Ikkaku nor Captain Kyoraku responded to the voice.

Yumichika sat up slowly. He had not had a sip from the captain's bottle, and so his head and vision were immediately clear.

He saw a tall, thin man wearing a captain's haori standing near the edge of the roof. Yumichika could not stop himself from drawing in a sudden breath. The man was astoundingly beautiful, almost angelic in appearance.

Long, gray hair flowed down his back, almost to his waist. His eyes were brown and piercing. He had a sophisticated look about him, and yet there was a kindness, a benevolence in his face, which was very fine and very pale.

Yumichika could sense immense power in the man, although he portrayed a somewhat delicate exterior. And perhaps that was why Yumichika felt immediately drawn to him. He felt he was looking at someone akin to him – delicate and fragile in appearance, but harboring a tremendous ability.

"Shunsui!" the man repeated, this time with more vigor.

Captain Kyoraku opened one eye. A funny smile curled one corner of his mouth. "Juushiro."

"Have you been up here all night?" the newcomer asked.

"Absolutely."

"But it's freezing out here. It's the middle of winter. Are you crazy?"

Shunsui pushed up slowly onto his elbows. "Oh, it's not bad when you know the right way to keep warm." The funny smile intensified. "The right juice goes a long way." He looked beside him to see the empty bottle lying on its side and beyond it, Ikkaku, still snoring away.

"Hey, Cue Ball." Shunsui took the bottle and prodded Ikkaku in the shoulder. "Time to get up."

Yumichika got to his feet and straightened his kimono. He was now regretting his decision to wear such a fine garment, as it had not weathered the cold and damp night air very well.

"I don't think we've met."

The new captain was speaking.

"Yumichika Ayasegawa," Yumichika replied with a tilt of his head.

"Juushiro Ukitake."

Yumichika felt an unexpected charge shoot through his body. _This_ was Captain Ukitake, the man of whom he'd heard so many great things. Of course, he'd heard great things about Captain Kyoraku, too; and although he liked him very much, he didn't sense anything particularly tremendous about the man. Ukitake, on the other hand, despite the placid exterior, seemed to be riding rough herd on a power that Yumichika could only contemplate with fear.

He knew that both men were the senior captains of the Gotei 13, said to have been trained by Yamamoto himself, their skills unmatched within the ranks. Perhaps he had been expecting them to be more venerable or stolid in appearance and manner. Instead, he had encountered a flamboyant, hard-drinking, soft-soaping dandy and a man who could pass a beautiful, flowing sliver of heaven whose immediate impression was mild and welcoming.

"I see Shunsui has found himself some new drinking friends," Ukitake was saying.

"Oh, uh . . . one new drinking friend," Yumichika corrected. "I didn't have anything."

"You just hung out here on the roof overnight, in the cold, for . . . fun?" Ukitake poked with a dubious gleam in his eye.

"My friend wanted to stop, and so I stayed with him," Yumichika replied.

"That was good of you, Ayasegawa-san," Captain Ukitake said with a kind smile. "Especially since it looks like he might need some help getting back to wherever he came from." A pause. "You're a Shinigami?"

Yumichika was surprised. He was not wearing his uniform.

"Yes, but . . . how did you know?"

"With a reiatsu like yours, I'd be surprised if you weren't a Shinigami. It's very powerful," the captain explained, adding with a curious inflection, "And very unusual."

Before Yumichika could inquire any further, Captain Kyoraku spoke. "You might have to wake him up. He won't budge."

Yumichika looked over in irritation at Ikkaku still crashed out in the same place. "I'll take care of him," he said.

Ukitake looked to his long-time friend. "Shunsui, we've got a meeting with the captain commander in thirty minutes—"

"A meeting? But it's our day off—"

"The mission takes priority," Ukitake shrugged. "If we hurry, you can get yourself cleaned up and . . . a little more sober before we meet him."

Shunsui sighed. "Okay, then let's go." Then to Yumichika, "Oh, and Yum—Yumchaka, let him know he's welcome to join me for drinks any time."

Yumichika nodded, even though he had no intention of doing so.

"It was nice to meet you," Ukitake said pleasantly, quickly asking, "What squad are you in?"

"Eleven," Yumichika replied. "We're both in Eleven."

Ukitake raised an eyebrow. "Zaraki's squad." The curious look on his face deepened into something almost mysterious. "I wouldn't have expected that." In the next moment, he turned to Shunsui. "We'd better hurry."

And then they were gone, and Yumichika was left alone to contend with a stone-cold drunken Ikkaku.

Yet, an idea was formulating in his mind. And dare he say it: a good idea. A plausible idea. And idea that could mean a world of difference moving forward.

* * *

"I'm going to go check out the market. I feel like cooking tonight."

Ikkaku only grunted, but that did not dampen Yumichika's spirits. It was late afternoon that same day; and after having finally slept off his intoxication, Ikkaku had decided it was time for him to get to work on his captain's order to procure a zanpakuto. Actually, he'd been told that he'd have one week after returning from patrol to procure a new weapon, and he'd already wasted almost three days. He didn't defy or disappoint his captain, and so he and Yumichika had set out to accomplish the task as soon as Ikkaku's head had felt well enough.

They walked down Yetten's Way, a narrow cobble-stoned path between two low, squat buildings, on their way towards the center of the Gotei 13 garrison area.

"Captain Zaraki said the sword smith had set up temporary shop right next to the old forge," Yumichika went on. "Why don't you go ahead and I'll meet you there in a little bit."

"I still don't see why I need a new sword," Ikkaku grumbled. "I can fight just fine with this one."

"Well, if it's not a zanpakuto—"

"Why do I need a zanpakuto?" Ikkaku cut him off. "I don't need any special tricks to be able to fight."

Yumichika shook his head. "Don't argue with me about it. I'm not the one who told you to get a new one." They came to corner. "Okay, I'm going to the market. I'll catch up with you at the sword smith."

"Fine," came the mirthless reply, followed by, "And get something good to eat. I'm starving."

They parted ways.

Yumichika walked the fifty meters to the next turn. He looked back over his shoulder. Ikkaku was not in sight. Instead of continuing on to the market, Yumichika leapt up onto the rooftops. If he used flashstep, he could be at Squad Thirteen in under a minute.

* * *

Ikkaku entered the make-shift metalworks.

Reconstruction of the original forge was still underway, but two doors down, the temporary operation had been set up, manned by several itinerant smithys who worked on a rotational schedule.

The one working now looked up as Ikkaku came in. He was about the same age as Ikkaku, close to the same height, his complexion ruddy and glistening over the open coal pit. His exposed arms were muscular and covered with a thin sheen of sweat in the heat generated by the ovens. He wore a thin cotton shirt, drenched with perspiration, under the leather work apron that hung from his neck. His hair so close-cut that it was impossible to tell its color. When he looked up to see who had entered the shop, his eyes were a glacial blue, which seemed out of place in the sweltering surroundings.

There was no one else in the shop.

Ikkaku was already predisposed to be disagreeable, given that he felt no need to find a new weapon; but his initial greeting with the smithy made him somewhat less obdurate.

"Something I can help you with?" the man asked with an open smile and a hearty voice, setting down his tools.

"I, uh . . . my captain sent me here to get a sword," Ikkaku answered, looking around at the dozens of weapons out on display.

"A sword? But you already have a sword." The man nodded at Ikkaku's waist.

"He sent me to get a zanpakuto."

"Ah, I see. May I?"

Ikkaku slid the sword from beneath his obi and handed it over.

The smithy turned the scabbarded weapon over in his hands a couple times, then drew the sword out for examining. He clutched the hilt with one hand and ran the other down the broadside. At length, he asked, "How long have you had this sword?"

"It came with me from the world of the living. The clothes on my back and the sword."

The smithy seemed to be studying Ikkaku's face, making him feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"You're a Capchetan?"

The okibi. Ikkaku had grown so used to the red eye tattoos that he'd forgotten how they must stand out to everyone else.

He felt his face grow warm. "Not exactly."

"But you wear the okibi." The man was not challenging him; he only sounded curious.

"Yeah . . . but I'm not a Capchetan."

The smithy nodded. "I suspected as much. A true Capchetan would have recognized his sword as being born of his soul. A true Capchetan would have recognized his own zanpakuto." He handed the weapon back to Ikkaku. "This weapon is a zanpakuto."

Ikkaku narrowed his eyes. "That can't be."

"I've forged a lot of zanpakuto, and I know one when I hold it. That is a zanpakuto. A zanpakuto can be born of his master's soul at any time, in this world or the world of the living. But it does not come into its own separate existence until it enters Soul Society. And even then, that existence is dependent upon the existence of its master." He paused. "How did you get this sword?"

Ikkaku looked away at a distant memory, one of a very few happy recollections from his life in the living world.

_"Before you leave, I have something to give you."_

_The sun was setting outside the monastery's west gate. It reached across the clear May evening and found its way into Ikkaku's eyes as he stood with Hakama, both of them looking out over the landscape stretching away below them._

"_You are seventeen now. A man by all accounts," the holy man went on. "When you leave here, you will make your own way. What you do will be your own choice. You are not going back to your father, unless by your own will. You can rise above your past. You may not be leaving as a Capchetan, but you are leaving as a man. And a man must stand on his own." He reached beneath his hanten and produced a sword. "This is for you."_

_Ikkaku was speechless and motionless._

"_Take it," Hakama insisted._

_Still, Ikkaku held back. "But . . . but that's your sword," he protested._

"_No, it's not mine."_

"_But I've seen it—you've always kept it in your room."_

"_I took this from the battlefield, from a fallen comrade, back during the Mandosian Wars," Hakama explained. "It belonged to one of my dearest friends. I've kept it all these years as a tribute to his memory. But now I have met the man who should be its wielder."_

_"I—I can't take this," Ikkaku said, shaking his head. "If it belonged to your friend, you should keep it."_

_"Salim was a good man, and he would not want his cherished weapon to languish in the cell of a brother who already has a weapon. He was given the weapon from his captain in the Mayote Saber Guard. Before that, it belonged to a warrior from across the Himmock River. And before that, it was found among the dead in the Blood Fields after the battle of Shensook. Its ownership can be traced back at least three hundred years. No one knows when it was made or where, but it has survived intact for at least that long. Such a weapon deserves a worthy bearer. I can think of no one better." Hakama held out the weapon again. "Take it, Ikkaku."_

_Ikkaku reached out and took it in his hands. He drew it from its scabbard and gasped at its beauty, reflecting the red and orange light of the sunset. It was the beauty of power and strength. The beauty of endurance and lethality._

_"Use it wisely."_

_Hakama's voice pulled Ikkaku's attention back to his teacher._

_"Hakama-dono . . . I . . . I can only say thank you."_

_Hakama smiled gently. "You can only _say_ thank you; that is true. But you can _do_ much more. Go into the world and be a good man. Live a good life. Do not let the anger take hold of you. Life will not always give you want you desire. Man will always disappoint. Put your faith and trust in something greater. Use that sword with discretion and an appreciation for its history." He stepped back within the wall. "It is time for you to depart."_

_Ikkaku slid the weapon back into its scabbard and bowed. When he raised his head, his countenance was firm. _

_"I won't disappoint you, Hakama-dono. I'll be the man you want me to be."_

How very short he had fallen of that promise.

In a quiet voice, he answered the man's question. "When I lived at the Capcehtan Monastery, my mentor gave it to me."

"Then he must have recognized that it was meant for you and you for it. How many years have you had it?"

"I don't know exactly. Fifty or sixty, maybe. It could be longer. I've lost track of how many years I've been in Soul Society." Ikkaku could not help but feel like a fool. A fool for not having recognized what Hakama had apparently known all those years ago in the world of the living. A fool for not knowing that which a complete stranger had been able to ascertain by mere touch.

"And in all that time, you've never heard its voice? It's never spoken to you?" the smithy asked.

"I heard a voice, but I thought it was my conscience. I didn't think it was a zanpakuto, although . . . "

"Although?"

"It told me it was a zanpakuto. I thought I was just jealous of a friend who had a zanpakuto. Could it really have been him speaking to me?"

"That's most likely the case." Seeing that his customer was ill at ease and at a loss, the smithy put a strong arm around his shoulders, which Ikkaku did not shrug off. "Can I give you a word of advice? What I felt in that weapon was immense power. Raw, destructive capability. You will either need someone to guide you into a relationship with your zanpakuto, or you will have to put forth all your effort in order to tame something so wild. I recommend the first option, since the second is a risky proposition."

Ikkaku was morose. "I don't know who I could ask."

"Someone with a lot of experience. Your captain, perhaps."

"Captain Zaraki doesn't even have a relationship with his zanpakuto," Ikkaku frowned. "He's the last person I could ask."

* * *

"Captain Ukitake, you have a visitor."

The captain of squad thirteen looked up to see his lieutenant, Kaien Shiba, standing in the doorway to the office. The second-in-command had his trademark half-smile, half-smirk on his face. He always looked like he knew something that no one else knew, like he was keeping a secret.

But of course, Juushiro Ukitake knew better. Shiba had no secrets, no special knowledge. The expression on his face was perpetual, and it was inviting. It explained why he was so popular with the lower ranks – and almost everyone he met.

"Who is it?" the captain asked.

"Uh, Fifth Seat Awa—awagayasa . . . awagasi? Something like that. From Squad Eleven," the lieutenant replied.

"Ayasegawa?" Ukitake inquired wryly.

"Yep, that's it!"

Captain Ukitake shook his head with a grin. "Next time, try to do a better job with the name."

"Hey, I got the rank and squad right!"

"Just send him in."

A moment later, Yumichika entered the office, and Lieutenant Shiba returned to his favorite passtime of playing "benzin balls" with the guards on duty.

"Ayasegawa-san, I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon. Please, come sit down," Captain Ukitake said as he came from behind the low desk and motioned to a sitting area adjacent to one of the windows. "What brings you here?"

Yumichika was once again struck by the beauty of the squad thirteen captain, but he recalled his business to mind. "I'm here to ask your help with my zanpakuto."

Captain Ukitake was surprised at this request. "Your zanpakuto? What kind of help do you need?"

"I want to learn jinzen, but I don't have anyone to teach me," Yumichika replied.

Again, Ukitake was stunned by this revelation. "You don't know jinzen? But then how have you been able to communicate with your zanpakuto? Do—do you have shikai? I'm assuming you do, since all seated officers have to possess shikai, and the only way to do that is through communication with your zanpakuto."

"I have shikai," Yumichika stated. "But I've never used jinzen to communicate with Fuji Kujaku. I've—I've been able to talk to him for over twenty years, long before I came to the Seireitei. I didn't know who he was – or what he was. He would come – his voice would come to me in my sleep and then he took on a body . . . I think—I think I did it all backwards, and now . . . we don't have a very good relationship."

"What do you mean?" Captain Ukitake prompted.

"We, uh . . . we argue a lot. He doesn't trust me, and . . . he's so powerful I'm afraid he . . . if I don't learn the right way to approach him, he might . . . he could get out of hand," Yumichika stammered.

The handsome man sitting across from him smiled knowingly. "At the time you started hearing his voice, you didn't know what he was, that there was a certain way to go about communicating with him; and by the time you found out, it was too late. Is that the case?"

"Yes—well, but I'm hoping it's not too late."

"I can teach you jinzen," the captain confirmed, "But I can't guarantee that it will be very effective. Or perhaps it will be effective in controlling your zanpakuto, but it may not improve your relationship. Your zanpakuto – Fuji Kujaku, is it? Your zanpakuto is already used to dealing with you in a certain way. He might rebel if you try to change things."

"I'm willing to take that risk," Yumichika replied. "I . . . I can't go on worrying all the time that he's going to . . . that he's going to . . . "

"Going to what?"

Yumichika shifted uncomfortably. "He's got some powers that I just don't want others to know about."

The captain's reply stunned Yumichika. "I can imagine."

"Why do you say that, Captain Ukitake?"

The knowing smile was still in place. "You do a very good job of suppressing your reiatsu. An amazing job. One of the best I've ever encountered." He inclined his head to one side. "But I'm very good at detecting reiatsu. And I can feel yours like a tidal wave."

Yumichika's cheek flushed red. He averted his gaze.

"I take it, from your reaction, that you know what your reiatsu feels like to others," Ukitake went on. "And since your zanpakuto is born of your soul, I would imagine that Fuji Kujaku's reiatsu is nearly impossible to resist."

"He is . . . he . . . I have to work hard to keep him in line, and sometimes I—I have to . . . I just don't want things to get any worse between us," Yumichika concluded miserably.

Ukitake nodded his understanding. "One of the hardest things for a Shinigami to do is gain submission from his zanpakuto, and I would guess that with a name like Fuji _Kujaku_, your zanpakuto is very proud and not likely to submit."

"Well, he does submit, but . . . he's not happy about it. He only submits because he's afraid I'll trap him inside and . . . " His voice fell off.

"Trap him inside? What do you mean by that?" a look of quandary pierced the captain's easy demeanor.

Yumichika realized he had revealed more than he'd intended, but he saw no reason to back away from it. He knew he was speaking to one of the most powerful captains in the Gotei 13, and he was not being rebuffed or discounted as a lowly fifth seat.

"Fuji Kujaku has the ability to manifest in spirit form here in the outside world," he admitted.

Ukitake's eyebrows went up. "That—that is quite an ability."

"Yes . . . and I don't want him to do it," Yumichika stated.

"Why not?"

Yumichika could not admit the true reason: fear that the kujaku would reveal his kido nature. He had to find a reasonable falsehood that didn't stretch too far.

"Because it's not what a zanpakuto should do," he weaved. "I mean, I don't see other zanpakuto spirits walking around—"

"Most other zanpakuto spirits don't want to come out and have to be forced to do so," Ukitake pointed out. "And that usually doesn't take place until a Shinigami is ready to learn bankai."

"I'm nowhere near ready for bankai," Yumichika said. "And at the rate things are going, it may never be a possibility."

"You said you trap him inside," Captain Ukitake resumed. "How do you do that?"

"I'm not really sure," Yumichika replied. "I've only done it twice, and both times were spur of the moment, strong emotional outbursts. He was threatening to come out, and I was angry and afraid, so I . . . I ordered him not to and . . . he ends up trapped insdie."

Juushiro Ukitake was a wise judge of character, and he knew he was not hearing the whole truth. He also knew that whatever Fifth Seat Ayasegawa was withholding, it would be best not to pursue it.

"I would imagine it's very hard for a proud creature to practice perfect obedience," he ventured.

Yumichika gave a vocal sigh. "I just don't want him to seduce everyone he comes in contact with."

"Is that what he wants to do? Is that why he wants to come outside?"

"I don't know," Yumichika moaned. "But I—I can't risk making him too angry, because I also—I depend on him to suppress my own reiatsu."

This statement puzzled the squad thirteen captain. "He suppresses your reiatsu."

"Not so much anymore, but when I was learning . . . when he first came into being, my own reiatsu started increasing to the point where I couldn't control it. He had to help me. Eventually, I learned to suppress it pretty well, and . . . to be honest, I think it hasn't increased at all ever since Fuji Kujaku and I started having problems. I don't need him to help me with hiding my reiatsu right now, but I'll need him if it starts to grow again."

"And you hope that learning jinzen will help with these problems?"

"Yes, that's my hope. I know you're one of the most powerful captains in the Gotei Thirteen, and everyone says you've got a lot of wisdom and have one of the best relationships with your own zanpakuto," Yumichika explained. "That's why I came to you for help."

"I can teach you jinzen," Captain Ukitake nodded. "But there are no promises as to whether it will help or not. You and Fuji Kujaku have already established a long-standing relationship. It may be too late to change the way you choose to communicate with him." A pause. "We can start tomorrow. I think Eleventh Squad is in garrison this week, right? You just gave off patrol a few days ago. So, come in the evenings after you get off-duty. Meet me here, and we'll see what can be done."

Yumichika stood up excitedly. "Thank you, Captain Ukitake. Thank you very much."

* * *

"Well, I'm sure you can find someone else to teach you," the smithy said. "The Gotei 13 is full of officers who have good relations with their zanpakuto. I'm sure you could find a lieutenant or other seated officer to help you."

"I guess," Ikkaku said listlessly.

The smithy gave a cheeky grin. "Are you a seated officer?"

"Third Seat."

"In Captain Zaraki's squad?" He sounded incredulous, but then apparently thought better. "Well, that makes sense, actually. Zaraki's not known for having any kind of positive relationship with his zanpakuto. I hear he doesn't even know its name."

"Yeah."

At that moment, Ikkaku felt the arrival of familiar reiatsu. He turned as Yumichika appeared in the doorway, but he was surprised when Yumichika looked right past him with wide eyes.

"Mendalo?"

The smithy was motionless for a moment, then broke from where he stood and crossed the room in a few animated strides.

"Yumichika?"

Yumichika response of laughter brought them together in a warm embrace. One that lasted a little too long for Ikkaku's comfort.

As they drew apart, the smithy, Mendalo, held Yumichika at arm's length. "What is this? You're a Shinigami?"

"As you see."

"This is unbelievable. I never would have pegged you to become a . . . " Mendalo's voice drifted off as a realization struck him. He gestured towards Ikkaku. "This is your friend, am I right?"

Yumichika was beaming. "Mendalo, meet Ikkaku Madarame. Ikkaku, remember I told you a swordsmith told me where to find Zaraki? This is him. This is Mendalo."

Ikkaku hesitated a moment before nodding curtly. "I, uh, I guess I owe you a lot of thanks."

"Well, if I had known Yumichika was going to end up taking on a warrior's life, I might have decided to withhold the truth," Mendalo quipped. "I just can't believe it! So, you found Captain Zaraki and even made it into the Gotei 13."

"Even into Squad Eleven," Yumichika replied. "We're both in Zaraki's squad."

Mendalo's rich laughter filled the small room. "That's even more amazing." He looked into the violet eyes and memories of the most satisfying night of his life came flooding back into his mind. "This is too good to be true. I never thought I would run into you again."

Yumichika returned the stare, his own recollections of that night swelling up in tingling excitement. In a moment of audacity, he let go a brief, small burst of his reiatsu.

Mendalo felt it.

Ikkaku also felt it.

It ignited a spark of jealousy in his heart, and yet, he knew he should not be jealous. Mendalo was, after all, the one who had provided the information to lead him to Zaraki. And Yumichika was the one who procured the information and been good enough to pass it on to Ikkaku instead of withholding it. Both of them had done him a good turn; and if they were happy to see each other, why not?

If Yumichika felt like showing off some little bit of his seductive ability, why not? He had to find some small indulgence, given the austerity and contrariness of the life he was living as a Shinigami.

Yet, for some reason, Ikkaku had the odd sense that something had just been communicated between the two men – a sort of anticipatory promise.

And no matter how much he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal . . .

It was.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Dear Reader,**_

_**Here's a quick chapter going into the Thanksgiving Holiday. If any of you have ever seen the Peacock Throne (in real life or just a picture), you'll see a reference to it here. I am modeling the shrine's Peacock Throne after the one found in the Moorish Kiosk at Schloss Linderhof in Germany. You may want to google it to get a look at it. It really fits Ruri'iro Kujaku! Also, I use the word "Atmen" at the end of the chapter. It means "Breath" in German. I hope everyone enjoys Thanksgiving. Please take time to count your blessings. It may not always seem there's much to be grateful for, but life itself is a gift. Peace! The Kujaku**_

Chapter 7 Communication

"Words you say to me  
I listen in sympathy.  
But I don't know what it is  
That makes me ignore you.  
My mind is so confused.  
What more can I tell you?"

Words You Say  
John Lodge

* * *

"I see you're still carrying the same sword," Yumichika observed as he and Ikkaku walked back towards the Squad Eleven area. "Is Mendalo going to make you a new one?"

Ikkaku could not miss the buoyancy in Yumichika's voice or the spring in his step. "No," he answered gruffly and curtly.

"No? But . . . why not?" Yumichika asked.

"He said this is a zanpakuto and that I need to find someone to teach me how to communicate with it," Ikkaku stated.

Yumichika was taken aback for a moment. "He was sure of that?"

"Yeah," Ikkaku replied. "And being that it's his job to make zanpakuto, I trust he knows what he's talking about."

Yumichika felt a twinge of astounded guilt. Ruri'iro Kujaku had been correct all along. The being he had spoken of, the being visiting his inner world was, indeed, Ikkaku's zanpakuto.

"That's incredible," Yumichika shook his head in wonder. "All these years, and you've never had any inkling."

Ikkaku hunched his shoulders self-consciously at this statement. He'd had plenty of inklings, and he'd disregarded every single one of them. But that was something he would not admit to Yumichika. He did not need to expose his own stubbornness and stupidity. It was humiliating enough that Yumichika already surpassed him in most of the Shinigami arts; he did not need to flaunt his own inferiority. He changed the subject.

"That sword smith was sure happy to see you."

Yumichika grinned. "Yes, it was quite a surprise."

"You seemed glad to see him, too."

Yumichika knew fishing when he heard it. "Of course. If it hadn't been for him, we would never have found Captain Zaraki, and you would have been miserable for the rest of eternity. It probably would have also meant the end of our friendship, so yes . . . I'm glad to see him again."

"It wouldn't have meant the end of our friendship," Ikkaku balked.

"Huh! You don't seem to remember the bad mood you were in after leaving Guckoo," Yumichika countered. "You wanted me to go back to Venla—"

"For your own safety," Ikkaku interrupted.

"Can you even deceive yourself with that lie?" Yumichika challenged.

Ikkaku again diverted the conversation. "Either way, Mendalo seems like a good guy," he conceded. "He was straight to the point – no bullshit. He knew right away this sword was a zanpakuto. All he had to do was hold it in his hands for a few seconds."

"Remarkable," Yumichika said admiringly. "Although I'm not surprised. He was very perceptive when I met him."

"Oh? In what way?"

"I was trying to ask him questions in a casual way, you know? But he could tell I was after something particular," Yumichika said, the shadow of fond remembrance creeping into his expression.

"So, how did you finally convince him to tell you?" Ikkaku asked, sounding aloof but clearly anticipating the answer.

"I used my reiatsu," Yumichika replied. It wasn't a full untruth.

"Is that all?" Ikkaku's voice was neutral. He was looking straight ahead as they walked.

But Yumichika was not fooled. Nor was he a fool. "What do you want to know, Ikkaku?"

"Nothing," came the feigned careless response. "Just asking if your reiatsu was enough to get the information from him."

"It was enough," Yumichika answered with a satisfied grin. "And it led us right to Zaraki, so we should be grateful."

"I am grateful," Ikkaku acknowledged. "And I think it's good that you're going to meet him for dinner tonight."

Ah . . . it was exactly as Yumichika had expected. Just before leaving the forge, Mendalo had suggested that he and Yumichika meet that evening to catch up over dinner. Yumichika already had something scheduled for that night, and he had his meeting with Captain Ukitake the following evening. But he could manage a late dinner afterwards, and so it was decided. It was this situation that seemed more troubling to Ikkaku than the fact that he'd been carrying around a zanpakuto for years without even knowing it.

But Yumichika was not going to hold it over Ikkaku's head. He wanted to enjoy Mendalo's presence without it becoming a bone of contention, and so now it was his turn to change the subject. "So, who are you going to find to teach you how to connect with your zanpakuto?"

After a few seconds' hesitation, Ikkaku replied, "I thought you could teach me."

These words stopped Yumichika in his tracks. "Me? Oh—no, no. Ikkaku, that's not a good idea."

"Why not?" Ikkaku asked, turning to face him. "You've known Fuji Kujaku for a long time, and he seems pretty obedient to you."

"O—obedient? Ikkaku . . . I've told you how difficult he is to deal with. I don't have mastery over him. I—I think you should find someone else with more experience," Yumichika deferred. "I mean, you want to have a good relationship with your zanpakuto, right? Better than what I have with Fuji Kujaku."

"I didn't know it was that bad between you two," Ikkaku stated.

Yumichika frowned. "Well, it's not terrible, but it . . . it's taken a lot of damage over the years. And I'm trying to fix that. I just don't know if it's already too late."

Ikkaku sighed. "Who could I ask? Captain Zaraki doesn't even know his zanpakuto's name. The lieutenant is . . . well, she's just a child, and I . . . I wouldn't feel right."

Yumichika could have offered up the Shinigami he had just recruited as his own mentor, Captain Ukitake. But he did not want Ikkaku to know he was seeking outside help in dealing his own zanpakuto. "What about . . . Captain Kyoraku?"

Ikkaku puffed out a chuckle. "Captain Kyoraku. Huh, that would probably be a lot of fun, but I don't know if I'd actually learn anything – except how to increase my alcohol tolerance level."

"You could learn _that_ from Matsumoto," Yumichika quipped.

The mention of Matsumoto raised Ikkaku's brow. "Now, there's an idea. I wouldn't mind taking lessons from her."

"No."

The flatness with which Yumichika had spoken the word made Ikkaku's eyes narrow mischievously.

"Do I hear a little jealousy there?" Ikkaku teased.

"No more than I heard when you were asking about Mendalo," Yumichika replied without missing a beat.

"Okay, okay. No Matsumoto."

"What about one of the other lieutenants?" Yumichika suggested.

"I don't know any of them," Ikkaku stated.

"Well . . . give it a few days. Maybe we can think of someone else," Yumichika said. "But I guess you should go back and tell Captain Zaraki that your sword is a zanpakuto."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

* * *

The following day was one of the longest Yumichika could remember. The squad ran hakuda drills in the morning, and they seemed to go on forever. By the time an end was called, Yumichika was battered, bruised, and hoping that Ruri'iro Kujaku would be in a mood to erase his aches and pains. In the afternoon, he found himself going through stacks of squad paperwork, sorting by what kind of action was required, filing, trashing, and creating a large pile of _I don't know what to do with it _ items. It irritated him only slightly that he had somehow, in the few short months of his tenure with Squad 11, become the unappointed squad administrative officer. He could not be surprised, though; it had become apparent right away that no one else in the squad had the temperament or the brains to handle anything other than a weapon; and so the dreaded paperwork drill had devolved to the only one who seemed to have an aptitude for such things.

But of course, it wasn't the hakuda or the paperwork drill themselves that made the day stretch on forever. It was the anticipation of the two events that would fill the night: the meeting with Captain Ukitake and the meeting with Mendalo.

Yumichika wasn't sure which one he was looking forward to the most. The prospect of improving things with Ruri'iro Kujaku, of returning to the days of bliss in Venla, was something he had been dreaming of and hoping for over the course of many months. He had despaired of ever recovering the joy of the past, for things seemed to sink as quickly as they rose when it came to Ruri'iro Kujaku; and he decided that he shared just as much blame for this as his zanpakuto. But Captain Ukitake's instruction might just help him reverse some of the trend, and he was already feeling great anticipation for their meeting.

When he contemplated his other meeting that night, his heart raced with a very different kind of eagerness.

Mendalo's excitement upon seeing him had been unmistakable. And Yumichika could not deny that he'd felt a thrill tingle up his spine upon entering the forge. The memory of that night seven months ago had not lost any of its vibrancy. If he could feel that way again—even for an hour—he would count himself very fortunate.

When the afternoon was finally over and he had found a place for every single piece of paper that had been left to his care, he scooted out the door without a word to anyone and headed straight for Squad Thirteen.

* * *

"The manner of interaction will differ between every zanpakuto and its master, but the mechanics are always the same. It's in the nature of a zanpakuto to resist obeying its master's commands, but it's also in every zanpakuto's nature to desire unity with its master. It's that desire for unity that a Shinigami depends upon to ultimately surpass the disobedient nature of his zanpakuto."

Yumichika listened to Captain Ukitake's every word with rapt attention, growing more astounded by the second at how much thought went into the relationship between Shinigami and zanpakuto.

"We cannot forget that zanpakuto are weapons; and that being the case, they all possess varying degrees of combativeness – even with their masters. But after years of working together, it is possible to achieve the right balance. It's important to strike the right tone from the beginning," Captain Ukitake went on. "The zanpakuto has to know right away who the master is."

"But I've known Fuji Kujaku for so long, and I can't go back and undo the way we came to know each other," Yumichika lamented.

"From what you've already told me, I think you're dealing with a dangerously powerful zanpakuto, and it's unlikely he's going to want to change. You said he can manifest in the outside world at will; I don't know any other zanpakuto that can do that," Ukitake stated.

"He can also use my senses to see and hear what's going on, and I don't even know when he's doing it," Yumichika explained. "He could be doing it right now."

Captain Ukitake smiled at this bit of information. "Then we'll have to be careful what we say. But I would imagine that if he decides to cause any trouble here, he is probably already aware that he's dealing with a much more experienced Shinigami who has a much more experienced zanpakuto." A pause. "But this isn't just about Fuji Kujaku. You're going to have some work to do, as well."

"I'm ready to do whatever it takes," Yumichika replied.

Captain Ukitake looked at him long and hard. "I have my reservations about doing this," he finally announced. "Fuji Kujaku will probably not take well to a change like this, and it could end up further damaging your relationship."

"He'll get used to it," Yumichika insisted. "I have to try. I want things to get better between us, and I don't see—I don't see that this could make things any worse than they are."

The Squad Thirteen captain did not appear as convinced as his pupil. "Its not going to be the same when you go to your inner world. You understand that, right? Immediately, you will notice some differences. I can't tell you what they'll be – each inner world is different. But entering through jinzen will certainly spark some changes. Just be prepared for that."

"I am," Yumichika assured him.

"Then let's get started." Captain Ukitake shifted into a cross-legged position. "There are several positions that facilitate jinzen, this being the preferred one. But you can sit leaning back on your heels. I've even seen some who stretch their legs out in front of them. Some press their soles of their feet together like this – unngggh, I don't see how anyone can do it this way. Anyway, find whatever position makes you most comfortable and allows you to focus on projecting an ease and control of mind."

Yumichika sat with his legs folded under him, leaning back on his heels.

"Place your zanpakuto across your lap. Good. Now, given that you've already been in communication with Fuji Kujaku for a long time, he will probably come readily when you summon him. But he'll know something is different. You'll be the one to control the interaction. How that will manifest, I can't say. But you'll both know something has changed."

"Will I have more control over him?"

"Not necessarily," Captain Ukitake replied. "Don't forget, jinzen is only a method of communication. It establishes the parameters for all your other interaction, but it won't necessarily give you more power or control over him." A pause. "Now, when you enter your inner world, you must do it through the center of his power. That is the critical element to asserting your dominance. Most new wielders of zanpakuto don't know what to expect when they enter their inner world. They have no idea where the center of their zanpakuto's power is, and so we have to abort many attempts at jinzen. Sometimes, it takes a Shinigami hundreds of tries before they can enter properly. You've been going to your inner world for years, so I imagine you already know where the center of Fuji Kujaku's power is."

"I do, but I . . . I've never entered through there. I've almost always entered through a . . . " His voice caught in his throat. He became suddenly aware of the implications associated with the maroon room. "A bedroom." He felt suddenly ashamed and betrayed. "He . . . he chose a bedroom. All this time . . . he only saw me as . . . "

"As what?"

Yumichika shook his head. "No, that can't be. He's—he's always refused to do it."

"Ayasegawa-san?"

Yumichika raised his gaze to meet Captain Ukitake's, and he saw there a complete absence of judgment or expectation.

"He . . . he's a very . . . erotic being," Yumichika stammered.

"Yes, I know."

That put Yumichika a bit more at ease and enabled him to continue on. "And it only now dawned on me that he was luring me into his world through a bedroom. I mean, that would seem to . . . that makes it seem like he wanted to . . . to . . . "

"I know what you're trying to say," Ukitake helped him out.

"But that can't be true, because he's never . . . he refuses to be with me that way," Yumichika stumbled through the last few words.

"You want him to be with you in that way?" Ukitake asked, sounding mildly surprised.

Yumichika frowned dismally. "I don't know. I did at one point. But the way he's acting now, I just don't know anymore."

"Do you know why he held back?"

"He said it would ruin our relationship," Yumichika said, struck by the irony of the situation. "But our relationship is ruined anyway."

"The relationship between a Shinigami and his zanpakuto can take a lot of punishment. Any being which is completely dependent upon another for its existence develops a penchant for long-suffering. The truth is our zanpakutos could probably destroy us in a heartbeat, but they know that means the end of their own existence. So, they learn how to put up with a lot of grief. But no one wants a strained relationship with his zanpakuto. And it's time to see if you can fix the one with yours. You must enter through his center of power." Ukitake was firm. "And once you enter, summon him to you."

"I just . . . I don't know how he'll take it," Yumichika fretted.

This Ukitake understood all too well. "Establishing yourself as the master is a difficult task with most zanpakuto. Discipline is something very few zanpakuto take well to, but if it's not established, the dangers are grave." He was speaking from his own experience.

Yumichika nodded. He set his sword across his lap and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was in the shrine, kneeling on the flower mosaic. Getting slowly to his feet, he looked around in wonder. Yes, he was in the shrine, but . . .

Its simplicity was gone. What he was now seeing was opulence beyond compare. The walls were covered with blue and green and purple gemstones, depicting the images of peacocks and other birds. The window arches were painted with gold gild, glowing in the light of hundreds of blazing candles, hung from the ceiling in magnificent chandeliers of the finest crystal and protruding from the walls in swan-shaped sconces of solid gold. The entire floor was made of glass-like tile, showing the figures of all manner of animal life – bears, foxes, deer, geese, fish – on and on.

Looking down at the flower mosaic beneath his feet, Yumichika drew in a stunned breath to see the flowers and their vine-like stalks undulating in an unseen breeze just beneath the transparent surface. He recognized them immediately as the very same vines and flowers that comprised Ruri'iro Kujaku's power. He had always known that was what the mosaic represented, from the first moment of seeing the vines in action; but to now see the tiles beneath his feet come to life . . . he felt as if the shrine had gone from being a mere structure to being the living core of Ruri'iro Kujaku's existence.

Turning to the dais, his eyes fell upon the most magnificent item in the shrine. It was a throne in the shape of a peacock. The arrayed tail feathers were of gold, inlaid with jewels too vast to count. The cushioned seat was of red velvet, plush and regal. On either side of the throne were two smaller peacock statues, poised like attendants to a king.

He walked up the three steps to the throne and stood staring. He was tempted to sit down, but a quiet fear in the back of his mind prevented him from doing so. There was clearly a power of some kind associated with the throne, but he was not sure he was the one to wield it.

He returned to stand upon the flower mosaic.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku, come to me."

A long half-minute went by with no sign of the azure peacock.

But Yumichika knew he was present. His reiatsu was easily detected. Yumichika had expected that there would be some hesitancy on the reikon's part. This sort of meeting would come as a surprise to the spirit. Yumichika had to handle the situation with delicacy at the same time as asserting his authority.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku, I'm waiting," he said in the silence of his mind, being sure to keep his tenor inviting.

It was another half-minute before Ruri'iro Kujaku appeared on the temple's threshold. And once again, Yumichika could see him in perfect, enchanting clarity.

The way the peacock did not enter but only stood peering dubiously inside was indication to Yumichika that there was something more at work here than mere surprise. No, Ruri'iro Kujaku was acting like a child caught in the act of doing something wrong. His reaction intrigued Yumichika.

"Come inside," he beckoned, holding out his arm.

Ruri'iro Kujaku came just inside the doorway. "Why—why did you enter here?" he asked, and he sounded oddly distrustful.

"Come to me," Yumichika persisted, gesturing with his hand.

Ruri'iro Kujaku moved slowly across the sparkling floor, and as he did so, the scenes under his feet came to moving life on the other side of the plane of the floor. And while this stunned Yumichika, the reikon made a concerted effort to appear unaffected by it. "I was waiting for you in the maroon room," he announced.

Yumichika needed a moment to collect his wits. He pulled his eyes away from the living floor and spoke resolutely. "I know, but I wanted to enter through the shrine."

The peacock stopped just out of reach.

"Why are you stopping there? Don't you trust me?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku moved closer until his master's fingers were able to curl gently around his elbow and draw him breathlessly near.

A subtle grin curved Yumichika's lips. "Is this how you see the shrine all the time?"

"Not . . . not all the time, no," Ruri'iro Kujaku answered cautiously.

"So, you know what I'm speaking of?" Yumichika supposed.

After a brief hesitation, the reikon nodded. "Yes."

"Why did you keep this hidden from me?"

"I didn't hide it from you, master," Ruri'iro deferred. "You just didn't see it. Even I didn't see it for a long time."

"You lured me into this world through the maroon room, when all along you knew I should be entering through here," Yumichika stated. "Why?"

"I didn't know you should be entering through here. Why should you be entering through here? This is just another—another place like any other in this world—"

Yumichika shook his head and maintained a kind demeanor. "You know that's not true. We both know this is the center of your power." He turned and motioned about the room. "And when I look around, I can see that now. I've always known it, but I've never seen this before." He looked back to the reikon. "You could have shown this to me, but you didn't. Why?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was silent.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku, answer me. Why did you keep this a secret?"

After a long moment of quiet, during which Yumichika began to think he would never get an answer, the reikon spoke softly. "Do you remember when you started barring me from the outside world? From sensing your thoughts and emotions? You said you needed your privacy, something that belonged to you and you alone." A pause. "I felt that way, too. I wanted something that belonged to only me. But I was a fool, because everything that belongs to me also belongs to you. I knew sooner or later you would discover the truth of this place." He took a half dozen steps towards the far wall, and as he drew near, the painted images of the birds came to life. "I didn't always see it this way. It wasn't until you learned how to release me that all this appeared. And I . . . I don't know what any of it means. I only knew I wanted to keep it for myself. I knew it would always be here for you . . . but I wanted to put off that day for as long as I could."

Yumichika sighed. "So . . . even though you managed to work your way around all my defenses and rob me of _my_ privacy, you still weren't willing to share this with me?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was adamant. "I haven't been barging in on your thoughts, master. I—I can't help but feel your emotions when you don't make the effort to hide them. And I can't stop myself from looking outside from time to time. But I've been obedient for the most part . . . haven't I?"

Yumichika shook his head in sad fondness. Ruri'iro Kujaku's flakiness was on full display. Only a being as proud as the peacock would imagine that _occasional_ disobedience was a mitigating circumstance. "For the most part," Yumichika conceded, knowing it would be fruitless to argue with the zanpakuto. Besides, he had come here to better their relationship, not cause more contention. "And I guess that's the best we can hope for." He walked towards the dais. "Tell me about this throne."

Ruri'iro Kujaku gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I don't know about it. I've never sat in it. In fact, that's the one thing here that . . . ruffles my feathers. I don't like it."

"Why not? It's stunning." Yumichika walked up the steps and reached out to touch the ornately gilded arm. To his surprise, he was repelled. He was repelled by the same energy that stood between Ruri'iro Kujaku and the cavern pool. He tried again, only to have the same thing happen. He looked at Ruri'iro Kujaku, who was watching with interest. "Why can't I touch it?"

"I don't know," the peacock replied truthfully.

"Can you sit in it?" Yumichika asked.

Ruri'iro was silent.

"Have you even tried?" came the pursuit. "Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

At length, the reikon sighed, "Yes, I've tried. And no, I can't sit in it. It does the same thing to me that it did to you."

Yumichika was perplexed. "But that makes no sense. Why would it be here if neither of us are meant to sit in it?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku only shrugged. He didn't care about the throne. He had only one thing on his mind. "Master, why did you enter through here?"

Yumichika came down the steps and stood in front of him. "Does it bother you that I did? Did you not want me to come through here?"

"But this is such a . . . a formal place," Ruri'iro began. "You and I have always—well, not always—but usually—we usually had a . . . a more comfortable relationship. You almost always entered through the maroon room."

"You mean the bedroom?" Yumichika said, a pointed inflection in his voice.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was taken aback for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "It has a bed in it, but I've never looked at it that way. It was just the place you chose to be our initial meeting ground."

"I didn't choose it," Yumichika protested. "You're the one who brought me there."

"That's not true, master," the kujaku disagreed. "I only called out to you. You entered this world through the portal that was easiest for you. That was your decision, even if it was an unconscious decision."

"That may be true," Yumichika conceded, then after a calculated pause, he added, "And if I had been instructed on how to properly initiate conversation with you, I never would have chosen the easiest way." He gathered his resolve. "Do you remember the last time I saw you, I mentioned there is a specific practice, a special method that a Shinigami is supposed to use to communicate with his zanpakuto? Well, I—"

"I remember you told me you would come back to see me soon. It's been four days at least. That's what I remember," came the childish interruption.

Yumichika ignored the barb. "Today is my first try at using that method. It's called jinzen, and one of its basic tenets is that the Shinigami must enter his inner world through the zanpakuto's center of power."

Ruri'iro Kujaku scowled. "That's stupid. What difference does that make?"

"First of all, it enabled me to see the shrine as I've never seen it before," Yumichika pointed out the obvious.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was flippant. "What does that matter?"

Yumichika stepped up and raised his hand to caress Ruri'iro Kujaku's cheek, hoping to sooth away some of the bitterness. "And I can see you clearly." Even as he spoke the words, he was struck by the realization that he was exerting perfect control over his physical and emotional desire for the reikon. To be sure, he felt the pull, the allure, the erotic energy of Ruri'iro Kujaku, pounding away at his senses as had always been the case in the past; but this time, he was somehow able to withstand the temptation, to hold off the onslaught of lustful covetousness.

To his own amazement, he watched as Ruri'iro Kujaku moved back, away from the caress. An angry, stricken expression contorted his features.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

In the silence that followed, it suddenly dawned on Yumichika what had caused such an adverse reaction.

"You . . . you can't see me, can you?" He posited, only to be met by more of the anger-filled silence. "I'm still obscured to you, aren't I?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku did not answer, but turned and stormed towards the doorway. Yumichika flash-stepped in front of him, blocking the way. He put his hands against the reikon's chest, stopping him.

"Don't leave. Please, don't leave."

Ruri'iro Kujaku stood motionless, eyes averted.

"I need you to help me." It was a truthful admission. "We have to work together. I can't improve as a Shinigami without you."

"So, now you _want_ to be a Shinigami."

Yumichika was direct and honest. "I'll do whatever it takes to stay with Ikkaku."

Ruri'iro Kujaku made a scoffing sound of derision as he turned his piercing glare to his master. "Oh, really? And does that include lining up new lovers to invite into your bed? Or perhaps you'd prefer it if I called them _business associates._ That was always your preferred euphemism, wasn't it?" Emboldened by his own words and careless of the possible consequences, hurt and insulted by the fact that his master had seemingly found another way in which to surpass him, he went on, relishing each dart-like accusation. "I know what you're up to. I can still slip around your defenses and hear what you're saying. _And_ I can see whom you're saying it to. I don't need to enter your thoughts to know what you're thinking. It's a part of you that you just can't let go. Is that all part of your scheme to hold onto Madarame? You think he'll be happy about other men entering your bed?"

Yumichika nearly stumbled backwards, so stunned was he by Ruri'iro Kujaku's outburst. This was not supposed to happen. The use of jinzen was supposed to improve the relationship between a Shinigami and his zanpakuto. Captain Ukitake had warned him that it might not work in this case, given the fact that Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku already had an established manner of communication. But it should not have made it worse!

Ruri'iro Kujaku crossed his arms smugly. "What's wrong? This isn't what you expected? Did you think that just because you decided to try using this new way of approaching me that I would fall down at your feet in adoration? Did you think that—that just because you can see the full extent of my spirit in the shrine, that you can see me clearly when I can't see you—did you think that would give you some power greater than what you already have?" His voice rose shrilly, and his tightly crossed arms rose up in heated animation. "You already have the ability to bring me to my knees! And I can't even fight against it! What more do you want?!"

For a moment, Yumichika could not speak. Ruri'iro Kujaku's rant had been seething, but there was one proclamation that had stood out above everything.

_The full extent of my spirit._

_The full extent._

Yumichika was riveted by those words, even as their meaning escaped him. He stared at Ruri'iro Kujaku, who had turned away and now stood sulking at the intersection of the transept and the sanctuary.

"What do you mean, 'the full extent' of your spirit?" Yumichika asked quietly and with as much authority as he could muster under the circumstances.

Ruri'iro Kujaku didn't even look at him. "You're too stupid to even know what you saw."

"Don't test me, Ruri'iro Kujaku," Yumichika warned. "I came here to improve things between us, but you're acting like a complete idiot. I'm not going to indulge your temper tantrums any more. Just tell me what you meant when you said 'the full extent' of your spirit."

Ruri'iro Kujaku ignored the question. "By 'improve', you really mean that you came here to fully subjugate me to your every whim. You want to treat me just like the other Shinigami treat their zanpakutos – no, no, you treat me worse, because at least the others don't go around hiding their zanpakutos' true abilities!" The peacock's rage was increasing with every word. "Why can't you admit that I'm not like the others?! Master, you're not like everyone else, so why should I be?"

"Don't speak to me that way," Yumichika said, still maintaining his calm, although his hold was tenuous. "Just answer my question."

"I'm not interesting in answering your question," Ruri'iro spat. "If you're too thick-skulled to understand what you see with your own eyes—"

Yumichika had reached his limit. If the zanpakuto would not converse with him in a respectful manner, then so be it. He drew his sword. "Sakikurue, Ruri'iro Kujaku!"

The vines sprang forth to envelop the reikon, but they never made it. With a wave of his hand, Ruri'iro Kujaku swept them aside.

Yumichika directed them forth again; and again his attack was unsuccessful.

"Do you think attacking me will make me more willing to answer your question?" Ruri'iro Kujaku sneered. "Especially when you're so incompetent that you can't even reach me? There's only one way for you to defeat me, so why don't you go ahead and use it? You're angry enough, I'm sure. Go on, do it!"

Despite the kujaku's goading, Yumichika refrained from letting his emotion get the better of him. He had already succumbed once, resulting in him drawing his weapon against his own zanpakuto. That fire had gone out of him the instant Ruri'iro Kujaku had deflected the vines. Now, he wanted only to return to the outside world and forget any of this had ever happened.

No, he did not want to forget. He wanted to talk to Captain Ukitake. He had to make some sense out of what had just happened.

He recalled the vines and slid the sword back into its scabbard. "Do what you want," he said with cool detachment. "Just don't forget – I can do what I want, as well. Push me, if you dare. I can push you right back into captivity. Refuse to obey me; just remember, if I'm killed, so are you." He returned to stand on the flower mosaic in preparation to return to the outer world. "And when – and if – you decide you want a proper relationship with me, I'll come to you. Until then . . . don't expect to see me in this world."

With that, he was gone.

* * *

"You want me to what?"

"To teach me how to connect with my zanpakuto."

Shunsui Kyoraku wondered if he were having a drink-induced hallucination. He set down the copy of The Seireitei Newsletter that he'd been reading and scratched his beard.

"Well, now, that's quite an honor," he began, already sounding cold to the idea, "but don't you—don't you think there are guys out there who could do a better job? Maybe someone you know a little better?"

"I just need someone to get me started," Ikkaku stated. "Once I'm in communication with it, I can take it from there."

"You think so?" Shunsui leaned back and regarded Ikkaku appraisingly. "You've got a pretty strong reiatsu, my friend. And pretty barbaric, I would say."

This made Ikkaku smile. "I like barbaric."

"I believe you," Shunsui grinned. "But look at me. Do I look barbaric to you? Katen Kyokotsu is a very refined lady. There's nothing barbaric about her. Maybe you should find someone who shares your zeal for barbarism. I'm sure there is at least one or two among your acquaintances."

Ikkaku hesitated. "I can't think of anyone."

"I can." Captain Kyoraku sounded very sure of himself. "Rangiku."

"Rangiku? You mean Matsumoto? Yumichika's friend?" Ikkaku was surprised.

"Yumichika! That's right! That's how you say it. I kept trying to remember . . . well, anyway, yes, Fourth Seat Matsumoto. She's very capable, and apparently Haineko is a handful. I think she'd be great for you." He cocked his head to one side and spoke as if he were imparting a great secret, "Plus, she's nice to look at."

Ikkaku recalled Yumichika's immediate and definitive denouncement of the idea when Ikkaku had proposed it himself only the day before. "I don't know . . . "

"I'll tell you what. You ask her, and if you don't think it's working, come back to me and I'll reconsider teaching you myself," the captain bargained.

Ikkaku was not in a position to contest the decisions of one of the most senior captains in the Gotei 13. He gave a grudging nod. "I'll give it a try. She may say no."

"She may. In that case, you can come back to me."

It was settled.

Ikkaku gave a shallow bow, which made Shunsui chuckle inside. Formality was such a waste of time.

* * *

"I could see in your face and your body . . . it didn't go well." Captain Ukitake reached out and took the sword gently from where it lay across Yumichika's lap.

Yumichika felt as if he were awaking from a dream – a nightmare. "It was a disaster. You were right. This wasn't a good idea."

Captain Ukitake could see his student was trembling. He placed a light blanket over Yumichika's shoulders then sat down across from him. "What happened?"

Yumichika shook his head in a combination of despair and defeat. "Fuji Kujaku is impossible. He's just . . . he's impossible. I really thought this would help, but . . . " He actually felt tears coming up his throat, but he would not give in to such weakness. "You were right. You were one hundred percent right. He didn't want to communicate with me in any way other than how we've always done it, and—and he was upset that I had entered through the shrine."

"The shrine?"

"That's the center of his power."

Juushiro Ukitake was still for a moment as he absorbed that piece of information. An inner world that contained a shrine. He had never met anyone whose inner world contained a shrine, but he'd read in the ancient manuscripts a great deal about what such a construct could mean; and he was more amazed than ever that this diminutive man in front of him was a member of the blood-thirsty Zaraki Eleven.

It also occurred to him that it was more important now than ever that Fifth Seat Ayasegawa maintain at least a tolerable relationship with his zanpakuto.

"Why was he angry?" Juushiro probed cautiously.

"I don't know. I don't know. He just—he—" A recollection came to him. "He got angry when he found out I could see him clearly, but he couldn't see me."

"What do you mean by that?"

If Yumichika were afraid he'd already said too much, he had also decided he didn't care. Only one truth needed to be closely hidden. Whatever else he divulged to Captain Ukitake, he felt it would go no further than the captain's ears.

"Usually, we can only see each other through . . . it's like a swirling cloud of light. One surrounds him, and one surrounds me. A few times, we were able to see each other clearly; and it always happened to both of us at the same time. But this time I could see him, and he couldn't see me. He was furious at that," Yumichika explained. "And he—he—was angry because I could see that the shrine had changed."

Captain Ukitake's silence prompted Yumichika to go on.

"The floors and the walls and the ceiling were covered with . . . images of animals. Birds, fish, land animals . . . even creatures I'd never seen before. And—and—you're going to think I'm crazy . . . "

"No, I won't. Go on."

"Whenever he moved near the images, it was if the whole scene came to life. It felt as if I could pass into the floor or the wall and enter the scene. And when he moved away, it . . . returned to just a picture. He said something about the full extent of his power – that I was seeing the full extent of his power, but I'm not sure what he was talking about, and he wouldn't tell me."

Captain Ukitake only nodded minutely. "Was there anything else?"

"There was a throne there, but neither of us could sit on it. Or I couldn't. I don't know about Fuji Kujaku. He told me he couldn't, but I don't know if he was telling the truth." He looked down at the floor as the shadow of shame darkened his features. "And then I got so angry at him, that I released against him. He was able to defeat me without even trying. That's when I left."

"It was a probably a good idea that you did," Ukitake said, forcing a smile. "You know, Ayasegawa-san, I think it's better if you . . . forget about using jinzen for now. You're going to have to find other ways to restore the relationship with Fuji Kujaku."

"But what am I going to do about him? If he won't obey me, I won't be able to remain a Shinigami," Yumichika fretted.

"Is he disobedient? Truly disobedient?"

Yumichika looked at him with a questioning expression.

"Does he refuse to release when you command him?"

"No," Yumichika conceded. "But he has tried to manifest in this world without my permission." He looked pained. "That's when I've had to trap him."

"And when you trap him . . . he's not powerful enough to get out?"

"Not so far," Yumichika replied, "But I've only done it twice. And I don't like doing it. I hate seeing him that way."

"I still don't fully understand why you don't want him to manifest." This was a risky push, but just maybe the reluctant Ayasegawa would reveal some small snippet of information that could confirm the scenario that Juushiro Ukitake was already formulating in his mind.

"Because it's not normal," Yumichika replied.

"Is that the only reason?"

Yumichika struggled with whether to answer or not. At last, he said, "Because I'm afraid he'll say things that I don't want anyone else to know."

Captain Ukitake nodded once. "I understand."

"So, what now?" Yumichika asked plaintively.

There was no easy answer to that question, but Juushiro was not going to say that. "I think you should work on making amends with Fuji Kujaku. Try to keep him happy. Work on increasing your spiritual pressure. You can still be his master without having to bully him." He added regretfully. "But just in case he can't always be reasoned with, make sure you maintain your ability to subdue him – even though you don't like doing it. We all have to discipline our zanpakuto from time to time. Make sure that option is open to you." A pause. "I would be happy to train you in any other element."

Yumichika nodded forlornly. "Thank you, Captain Ukitake."

* * *

"I had an interesting visit this morning."

Juushiro had barely sat down before Shunsui had leaned in like a gossipy woman to pour forth his day's activities.

It was evening, after Captain Ukitake's lesson with Ayasegawa, and now the two senior captains were in a glass-enclosed winter garden behind their favorite restaurant.

"So did I – this evening," Juushiro stated. "You go first." He helped himself to a cup of sake.

"The new third seat in Zaraki's squad came to me for help learning how to contact his zanpakuto." Kyoraku was almost gleeful. "A third seat and he doesn't even know his zanpakuto. I guess he really is well suited to be one of Zaraki's."

"That's interesting," Juushiro said. "His friend, Ayasegawa-san, came to see me about something similar."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes," Juushiro nodded. He took a sip of the drink then spoke with an unexpected gravity in his voice. "But I think . . . we might have a situation.

Shunsui rolled his eyes. "Ohhh, I hate it when we have situations."

"Ayasegawa's been in contact with his zanpakuto twenty-some years, but he says their relationship isn't going well. He came to me because he wanted to learn jinzen and try to make things better. I warned him against it, but he tried anyway. Apparently, it made things worse."

Shunsui shrugged. "Lots of Shinigami have trouble with their zanpakuto."

"He said there's a shrine in his inner world," Juushiro said, letting the words fall heavily.

"A shrine . . . "

"A shrine. Not only that, he said that when his zanpakuto spirit walked past the images on the walls and floor, they came to life," Ukitake went on.

"Hoo," Shunsui breathed. "And he's having problems with his zanpakuto and he's in Zaraki's squad. That's not a good combination."

"My thoughts exactly," Juushiro agreed.

"Do you think—could he be persuaded to go to another squad?"

"I don't know," Ukitake frowned. "It's something we should probably work on. Or we just need to keep a close eye on him." He took another sip. "I'm hoping it's not what we think it is, but uh . . . well, judging from Ayasegawa's reiatsu alone, it seems pretty likely."

Kyoraku looked troubled. "Do we tell him?"

Juushiro shook his head immediately. "No, no. He's having enough trouble as it is right now. And we're not positive that he's carrying an _Atmen*_. It's better if we just let him be and keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't do anything . . ."

"Stupid?" Shunsui provided.

"Desperate," Juushiro replied. "After all, he _is_ in Zaraki's squad."

*_Atmen means "breathe" in German._


	8. Chapter 8

**Dear Reader, Sorry it took me a while to get this up. I had the entire chapter written, then something happened to the disc and erased the whole thing. Even the Geek Squad couldn't get it back! So, it's a rewrite from memory. Anyway, there is some minor sexuality in it. Please enjoy! Peace, TK**

* * *

Chapter 8 A Mirror of His Soul

"_The secret that you keep  
__Is hidden way down deep.  
__I see it through the window of your soul.  
__I hear it in your voice.  
__I feel it in your touch.  
__The love that's in your heart  
__You can control."_

_Take Your Chances  
_Justin Hayward

Yumichika was in no mood for his second meeting that night. He gave serious consideration to cancelling dinner, but that would be rude. And rudeness was ugly. Plus, seeing Mendalo might help take his mind off the unpleasantness of his encounter with Ruri'iro Kujaku.

Still, his enthusiasm was less than great as he sped from the Squad Thirteen area straight to the The Red Lion, a sort of tavern and restaurant outside the Squad Four area. His meeting with Captain Ukitake had taken longer than he'd thought – which made him wonder how much time he had passed in his inner world, given that it had seemed like barely minutes; and now he had no time to go back to his room and change into something more attractive, for although he could hardly believe it, he actually felt . . . unattractive.

Ruri'iro Kujaku's scathing rebuke had brought out something in him that he hadn't known existed, and it had been undeniably ugly. But then, so had Ruri'iro Kujaku's behavior. The angry peacock had been brazen enough to take offense that he'd been caught hiding certain aspects of his being from his master. He'd purposefully said hurtful things simply because secrets of his world had been exposed.

'And well they should have been!' Yumichika fumed silently. 'What right does he have to withhold his power from me? He's supposed to serve me, and yet he acts like I'm the one who's supposed to do his bidding.' He felt as if he had been played for a fool, his entire relationship with his zanpakuto based on only a partial revelation of the truth. And he _still _did not have the entirety of the story. What else was the kujaku withholding? What other powers? What other secrets?

And why? That was the main thrust of Yumichika's anger – not that his zanpakuto had even more abilities than he'd believed, but that those abilities had been kept secret for no other reason than _"I wanted something that belonged to just me."_ Damn it! Everything Yumichika had belonged to that grating bird, but something as magnificent as what Yumichika had seen in the shrine – the coming to life of the images - _this_ was something Ruri'iro Kujaku felt should belong to only him? It was outrageous! There was no good reason to hide such power from his master. No good reason!

With such thoughts churning through his head, Yumichika had fairly worked himself into a frenzy by the time he arrived at The Red Lion. He entered the front door, fully prepared to be coarse and vulgar and snide to anyone and everyone who even dared turn an eye to him. It struck him as cynically humorous that this was precisely the way everyone in Squad Eleven behaved – by choice. He contemplated the wicked satisfaction of such behavior.

He entered the tavern side of the establishment.

And despite his intention, his belligerent mindset began to melt immediately away.

He was greeted from the outset with friendly words and gestures. And those who did not greet him followed him with their eyes. It was astounding, but then again . . . it wasn't. Yumichika knew precisely what he was witnessing. He'd experienced it before.

He'd been in the Gotei 13 for roughly four months, and now word of him was spreading. He did not need to hear the words to know what was being said of him and why. He was the beautiful Fifth Seat of Squad Eleven. And if his beauty alone were not enough to turn heads and foster whispers of admiration, then word of his prowess was. He'd fought his way into the top tiers of the most lethal squad in the Gotei 13. He'd already encountered and defeated a hollow. He'd managed to blow another enemy away in a flash of blinding light. Little surprise it was that the rank and file found him beguiling. It was nothing less than he deserved.

Yes. Yes, this was exactly what he needed. He had made the right decision in coming here tonight. Where Ruri'iro Kujaku had torn down his ego, these people could rebuild it in a matter of minutes. And he was quite sure that Mendalo would be more than happy to put on the finishing touches.

He moved through the throng of patrons, stopping to chat with this or that group, reveling in the attention, and even allowing small snatches of his reiatsu to seep out from time to time, gloating inwardly at the helplessness of those caught in its waft and the turn of their wanton gazes.

It took him fully thirty minutes to pass through the crowd, but once he had moved beyond them, he was rewarded with the sight of Mendalo leaning against the bar, waiting patiently for him with an inviting smile.

The sword vendor was not alone. He was speaking to a group of five or six Shinigami, but he had been watching Yumichika's progress through the tavern for the last fifteen minutes or so. Now, he broke away from the other men and went to greet him.

"I wasn't sure you were going to make it past the adoring crowd," Mendalo said with a grin.

Looking at him, hearing his voice, Yumichika felt like dispensing with dinner altogether. The comfort he sought did not come from a plate of food or a glass of spirits. But he maintained his propriety.

"The price I pay for being beautiful," he replied, realizing only after he'd said it, how false it was. He knew damned well the price he'd paid for being beautiful. The true price. Years ago in Mito. A price no one should be asked to pay. And then, that easily, the balloon of adulation that had swelled around him deflated quickly, as he recalled Ruri'iro Kujaku's accusations of returning to a life of frivolous sexuality.

Mendalo, however, seemed to like this answer. "And I plan to indulge in that beauty all night long." A pause. "Let's go into the restaurant. It's just too crowded in here."

A minute later, they were seated at a table in the much quieter restaurant, and having placed their orders, Mendalo showed the sort of attentiveness that had made him so appealing to Yumichika that night seven months ago.

"I like this look," he began directly.

It occurred to Yumichika that Mendalo was seeing him for the first time with short hair, and he was pleased with the compliment.

"It wasn't exactly my choice," he replied. "But it's okay."

"It suits you," Mendalo nodded.

Yumichika was demur. "At least it's not as hideous as the uniform."

"Well, you know, you can brighten that up a bit," Mendalo suggested. "Have you ever seen Captain Kyoraku? He wears a bright pink kimono over his haori. Captain Kurotsuchi adds all kinds of headdresses and—"

"Ugh, he's barely even a human soul," Yumichika interrupted, his voice filled with distaste. "But you're right about Captain Kyoraku. I don't know, maybe I can figure out some way to spice it up."

"Either way, the simple fact that it's on your body makes it attractive enough," Mendalo smiled.

These words, the most obsequious flattery, were music to Yumichika's ears. "I can't believe you're really here," he said.

Mendalo agreed. "You're the last person I ever thought I'd see again. I would have never pictured you as a Shinigami."

"Believe me, it wasn't my intention to become one," Yumichika assured him. "When you gave me that information about Zaraki, I thought it was so Ikkaku could find him and fight him. But somewhere along the line, that purpose changed. Ikkaku decided he wanted to join the Gotei 13, and well . . . the only way for me to stay with him was to join as well."

"You'll forgive me for saying so, but . . . you don't look like a warrior, Yumichika. And Zaraki's squad? That's too incredible to believe," Mendalo pointed out.

Yumichika could not be offended. Everything Mendalo had said was true.

"I fought my way in – just like Ikkaku. He became third seat, and I took the fifth seat. I actually won fourth seat, but the kanji is just not as beautiful as five," Yumichika explained, a hint of arrogance tainting his voice.

"You fought your way in?"

Yumichika nodded a grin.

"Wow, I would have liked to have seen that," Mendalo mused. There was a moment of silence, then he chuckled, shaking his head.

"What are you laughing at?" Yumichika asked.

"Oh, I'm just wondering what kind of zanpakuto Yumichika Ayasegawa would have," Mendalo replied wistfully.

Yumichika recoiled inwardly at the question. At the moment, his answer would be less than generous, given the circumstances of his last meeting with Ruri'iro Kujaku.

"Why do you wonder about that?" he asked.

"I'm a swordsmith. I make zanpakuto. Don't you think I'd have an interest?"

The answer was so obvious, Yumichika felt embarrassed for asking. Even so, he was not in any mood to discuss Ruri'iro Kujaku and thereby find himself in a bad mood again.

"I'd be happy to show him to you, but not tonight," Yumichika said. "I want to just enjoy seeing you again."

Mendalo knew an evasive answer when he heard it, but he did not pursue. Most Shinigami, given the opportunity to talk about their zanpakuto, waxed eager and eloquent. The fact that Yumichika was not interested in talking about his own weapon meant that there was some measure of discontent there.

Or it could mean that Yumichika preferred to keep the spotlight on himself – not an usual thing coming from one so beautiful.

"Well, I know I'm enjoying seeing you again," Mendalo acquiesced in changing the subject. "You know, I've thought about you often."

"Oh?"

"You, uh, you kind of leave a mark on people. But you knew that, didn't you?" Mendalo posed in a suggestive voice.

"I know." It was not spoken in arrogance; it was simply an acknowledgment of the truth.

"It's a pretty impressive skill you have," Mendalo recalled.

"Yes, but I—I try not to use it very often, and definitely not to its full extent," Yumichika replied. "It's gotten me in trouble before." He paused thoughtfully. "Bad trouble. And I don't want to be known as the Shinigami who goes around seducing everyone."

"But you were using it in here tonight," Mendalo stated. "On the other side, I could feel it."

"Just a little bit, barely even enough to fill the eye of a needle," Yumichika answered.

"Really? Well, for the eye of a needle, it was pretty potent," Mendalo grinned.

Yumichika leaned forward and said in a coy voice, "And there's a lot more where that came from."

"But you just said you don't like to use it, because it gets you in trouble," Mendalo pointed out.

"Under the right circumstances . . . and with the right person, it's a risk I'd be willing to take," Yumichika replied.

"Are you looking for a volunteer?" Mendalo quipped.

Yumichika beamed. "I think I've already found one."

* * *

"Third Seat Madarame!"

Ikkaku stopped in his tracks at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. He had been heading for The Marble Fountain, hoping to find Matsumoto – or if not, to at least put a fitting end to the day with a flask of good, strong sake. He was prepared to show an aggravated face to whomever the person was who had called out to him; but turning, he found himself more curious than annoyed.

Approaching him was a man with a warrior's build. Tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, muscular. He wore his black hair cropped close and a pencil-thin mustache neatly trimmed. His eyes were obscured behind a pair of cat-like sunglasses – even in the dark of night. His uniform was open to waist, showing an abdomen wrapped in bandaging. He wore his sword tucked inside the fold of his kosode with only the hilt protruding. It looked like a short tanto style weapon, odd and unseemly when coupled with such an imposing figure.

"Do I know you?" Ikkaku asked.

"Sixth Seat Iba Tetsuzaemon," came the reply, spoken in a deep, masculine voice. "I'm joining Squad Eleven next week."

"Ohh, the new guy," Ikkaku nodded. "I, uh, I think I'm supposed to be your sponsor."

"I saw you when I was coming out of the Squad Nine, so I thought I'd introduce myself," Iba explained.

Ikkaku, finding the newcomer to be more interesting than boring, decided to be magnanimous. "Nice to meet you. You drink sake?"

"Lots of it."

A one-sided grin curled Ikkaku's mouth. "I think we're going to get along already. I'm headed over to The Marble Fountain to have a drink or two. Care to join me?"

"Sounds good," Iba replied. "But one or two? Let's make it seven or eight."

Ikkaku chuckled. "If you fight as well as say you can drink, you'll fit right in with Squad Eleven." They began walking. "So, you're in Squad Nine right now?"

"Mm-hm."

"What made you want to come to Zaraki's squad?" Ikkaku asked.

"Oh, lots of things," Iba answered. "Nine is boring as hell. I won't go into it, but let's just say it's not my thing. Our new captain doesn't . . . he just not my style. Plus, I've been sixth seat there for years. I want to move up the ladder, and well, word's out that Squad Eleven has a vacant fourth seat."

Ikkaku did not fault him for his blatant desire to improve his position. The only person who would ever turn down a promotion was Yumichika, who had all sorts of silly reasons for doing so – like the shape of a number.

"Then I wish you luck," Ikkaku said. "Squad Eleven is the place to be if you want to show your skill."

"I heard that you made third seat by fighting your way in," Iba went on.

"Something like that," Ikkaku replied. "It was a challenge, and I won the challenge."

"I guess there are other Shinigami that I'll have to beat out for the fourth seat," Iba supposed. "I imagine I'm not the only one who wants it."

"Well, it's been empty for a few months now, so I guess we'll find out when you come to the squad next week. If anyone contests you, then we'll know."

"What about the guy you joined with? I heard he took the fifth seat. You don't think he'll want to challenge me for fourth seat?" Iba asked.

Ikkaku actually laughed. "Yumichika? No. Trust me on this one. He'd take a beautiful five over an ugly four any day."

Iba regarded him through the tinted shades, unsure of whether he were being serious or not. "Are you joking?"

"Not at all," Ikkaku replied. "Although I suspect that one day he may want to challenge me for the third seat . . . " The idea made him laugh again, and that was good – because if he let his thoughts drift towards where Yumichika was at that moment and with whom, he might have lost his good humor altogether.

* * *

The itinerant swordsmiths shared a lodging on a narrow cobblestone alley near the northern ringwall of the Gotei 13, behind the Squad Six area. There were six smithies who worked on rotating schedules, and they all had nicely furnished individual apartments in the lodging – a two-story older building whose second-story windows opened up onto a splendid view of the gardens beyond the ringwall, thus giving the lodging its name, The Garden View.

It was just before midnight when Yumichika and Mendalo left The Red Lion for the thirty minute walk to The Garden View. They had both been pleasantly surprised when, shortly after setting out, a steady snow had begun to fall, coming down in large, petal soft flakes.

"Ohhh, it's beautiful!" Yumichika proclaimed in delight. "This makes me feel like I'm back in Venla! The snow there—the mountains would be covered in snow from November through March or April. It was so beautiful!"

Mendalo was enchanted at the joy in his companion's voice, the glimmer in his eye as he spoke of a fond memory. His anticipation increased when Yumichika turned to him with that same bright expression.

"How long are you going to be here?" he asked.

"Seven or eight months, I suppose," he replied. "At least until they rebuild the forge, and that doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime soon. They're still conducting the investigation."

Yumichika looped his arm through Mendalo's and pressed close to his side as they walked on. "I hope they take forever."

Mendalo grinned. "You know all the right things to say."

"Not all the time," Yumichika corrected. "But will you really be here that long?"

"We have to replace all the swords that were destroyed. That's almost three hundred. And even working with the two regular Gotei swordsmiths, that's only eight swords a week we can produce," Mendalo explained.

"Eight a week? That doesn't seem like a lot."

"Making a zanpakuto isn't like making any other sword. There's an art to infusing spirit energy into metal, and even the master metal workers don't always get it right," Mendalo said.

"It's all a mystery to me," Yumichika marveled. "My zanpakuto just appeared one day, from thin air."

Mendalo glanced down at the cold, red cheek. "Yes, I believe that."

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the lodging. Mendalo's apartment was on the second floor with one of the garden views. Upon entering, Yumichika was surprised to find a fire already burning. After the cold and wet of the snow, its warmth felt tremendous, and he headed directly for it.

"This is a nice place," he noted, looking around in the dim light.

"They take good care of us," Mendalo replied, flipping on the overhead lights and tossing off his coat.

"Oh—leave them off," Yumichika suggested. "The fire is bright enough, and well . . . the lights ruin the mood."

Mendalo was only too happy to comply. "Do you want something to drink, to warm you up?"

"Oh, maybe just some tea," Yumichika replied, holding his hands out towards the flames. "Who made the fire?"

"There's a team of house women who clean the apartments and cook and stuff," Mendalo replied. "I'm sure one of them made the fire while I was out."

"I suppose they figure it's important to take good care of you," Yumichika surmised. "I imagine the makers of zanpakuto are held in high esteem."

Mendalo set about making the tea. "I don't know about that. We perform a necessary service. That's all."

"All? I think it's more than just a necessary service," Yumichika countered. "Every Shinigami has to have a zanpakuto."

"Yes, but as you already know, not all zanpakuto come from forges. The most powerful ones arise directly from their masters' souls. The ones made in forges usually go to the Shinigami who aren't able to bring forth one on their own. And unless a Soul Reaper has a strong enough reiatsu, even these zanpakuto will never come to life. They're the Asauchi, the nameless," Mendalo explained. He had put the kettle on and now moved over to where Yumichika stood at the fire. "You should take this off," he said, referring to the uniform. "It's wet."

"Do you have something else for me to wear?" Yumichika asked.

Mendalo noted with humor his guest's unpredictable sense of propriety as he picked up a neatly folded afghan from over a warming rack beside the fire. "You can wrap this around you."

"What about you?" Yumichika asked, accepting the afghan.

"I'm dry," Mendalo answered.

Yumichika reached up and ran a hand over the close-cropped hair. "Not completely."

Mendalo regarded him with beaming eyes. "Not only do you know the things to say, but you know all the right things to do."

Yumichika was smiling in the flickering light. "It's as much for me as it is for you. It's been a long day, and I'm ready to end it on the right note."

Mendalo put his hands on Yumichika's waist. "You can get off to a good start by getting out of these wet things before you get sick."

Yumichika simpered. "I'm not that fragile. You should know that. And, you should also know that, if I recall correctly, the last time we were together, I had to undress myself almost the whole way. I didn't think that was very romantic."

Now, Mendalo laughed fondly. "I didn't realize you had been going for romance then."

"I wasn't," Yumichika admitted. "But I am now."

He was so blunt, so earnest, and so damned beautiful, Mendalo felt at that moment that he would do anything for him. He untied the obi at Yumichika's waist, but instead of letting it fall, he used it to pull the slight body against his and tilted his head down.

Yumichika met him in a sweet, passionate kiss. As they drew apart, he looked up to see a strange hesitancy settle over Mendalo's countenance; and at that moment, all he could think of was Ikkaku's rejection of him on the riverbank in Maiweg's Orchard. He was horrified to think it might be happening again, but Mendalo's next words, spoken with gentle honesty, laid his fears to rest.

"You know, I can't believe it, but I'm . . . a little nervous," the sword smith admitted, giving a chuckle at the unlikelihood of such a circumstance.

Yumichika was touched. "Why?"

"I've carried the memory of that night with me these past seven months," Mendalo answered. "It was the most incredible love-making I've ever known. I'm afraid that nothing can ever top it, and I—I don't want to be disappointed. Or to disappoint you."

Yumichika's pride and happiness swelled to bursting. "I can promise you," he whispered, "What you felt then . . . wasn't even a shadow of what I give you."

Mendalo laughed with warmth. "Oh, I believe that. I get the feeling there's no end to what you can do. The problem is that . . . it was all _I_ could do."

Every word only increased Yumichika's excitement. How long had it been since he'd felt this way? Eager for a sensual encounter, ready to turn over his body for each and every pleasure he could gain or give. None of the drama associated with Ruri'iro Kujaku. None of the confusion associated with Ikkaku. Here was a man who wanted to make love to him, plain and simple. No strings. No meaning. No ulterior motives.

And Yumichika could not wait to love him in return.

In fact, in some perverse way, he hoped with all his heart that Ruri'iro Kujaku was watching, that the peacock was looking out through his eyes right now and seeing what he was seeing, feeling what he was feeling, tasting what he was tasting. In the same way that Ruri'iro had wounded him with his words, he would return the injury with his actions. This thought only added to Yumichika's anticipation.

He pulled Mendalo's head towards his until their lips were just barely touching.

"No, it wasn't. You only think it was all you could do," he breathed. "Trust me."

Mendalo felt it first as a small trickling sensation against his skin, traveling up his nerves and lighting a fire in his brain. The current increased in intensity, slowly and enticingly. It was a dangerous and wonderful thing he was experiencing.

Yumichika's reiatsu.

* * *

"You know, I was hoping Matsumoto would be here," Ikkaku stated, downing his sixth glass of sake and looking around through reddening eyes. "This is a pretty popular spot. I thought she'd be here."

Iba grinned slyly. "Matsumoto, eh? If you're looking for some action, you'd better look somewhere else. Rangiku would just as soon chew your head off." He was on his fifth glass.

Ikkaku sneered in drunken fashion. "Not that kind of action," he replied. "I need . . . well, I need someone to teach me how to communicate with my zanpakuto." He might have been saying too much to a new acquaintance and one who would be serving under him, but Ikkaku did not feel any regret. The truth was that he was having a great time with him.

The Sixth Seat was a man's man, someone who pulled no punches nor offered any excuses. He was straightforward and very unpolitically correct. He said what he thought – about everything: his captain, his former captain, Central 46 (the ruling body of Soul Society), other Shinigami, the anatomy of any woman who walked by. And Ikkaku appreciated that. Iba also had a dry sense of humor that Ikkaku found refreshing.

"Communicate with your zanpakuto? What do you mean?" Iba asked, lowering his glasses down the bridge of his nose, briefly revealing a pair of startling deep blue eyes – not what Ikkaku would have expected.

Ikkaku shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. "I don't know my zanpakuto."

"You—but you're a third seat," Iba said in disbelief. "Are you saying you've . . . you've never communicated with your zanpakuto?"

"Never."

"That's . . . incredible. So, how did you manage to get into Zaraki's squad as a seated officer without a zanpakuto?"

"Oh, I'm sure you've heard the story," Ikkaku replied, pouring another glass. "I won the challenge. I fought the third seat and beat him."

"But without a zanpakuto—"

"I have a zanpakuto," Ikkaku corrected. "I just don't know how to talk to it."

"You don't know jinzen?"

"No."

"And you're looking to Matsumoto to teach you," Iba concluded.

"I don't know who else I could ask," Ikkaku explained. "My captain doesn't even talk to his own zanpakuto. My best friend says he has a bad relationship with his. My lieutenant is a child. I I asked Captain Kyoraku, but he didn't really want to. He suggested Matsumoto."

"Well, I don't know if Rangiku has a very positive relationship with her zanpakuto," Iba said thoughtfully. "She complains a lot about Haineko." A wicked grin crossed his face. "But boy, she'd be nice to look at, huh?"

"That's for sure," Ikkaku replied. "Anyway, I was hoping I would run into her tonight, so I could ask her."

Iba nodded. "She might still show up. Until then . . . " He raised his glass. "Bombs away."

Ikkaku joined him. They clinked glasses. "Hear, hear."

They both drained their glasses in one gulp.

And the best part about it was that Ikkaku was not even thinking about Yumichika.

* * *

The fire had burned low hours ago.

Neither of them had even noticed.

Mendalo wasn't even sure how long he'd been lolling around in this state of ecstasy. It might have been days, for all he knew. Did it even matter? He would be perfectly content to stay this way forever. He was laying flush atop his amazing lover, his damp cheek resting against Yumichika's chest.

Beneath him, Yumichika was still catching his breath. The actual physical love-making had ended . . . who knew how long ago? But only now was he recovering his senses. The entire episode had gotten away from him, and he had allowed himself to be willingly lost in the rapture of the most tremendous love-making he had ever experienced, his moments with Ruri'iro Kujaku not withstanding; for where the reikon had always stopped just short of a sexual union, that had not been the case with Mendalo.

"I thought I was the one who was supposed to make _you_ crazy," he said softly.

Mendalo turned his head into the smooth skin of Yumichika's chest and delivered a feathery kiss. "You did," he replied, following with several more kisses. "In fact, there were a few times when I was afraid I had hurt you."

Yumichika grinned. "I told you . . . I'm not so delicate. You should believe me."

"I do now," Mendalo admitted, tracing a small circle around one nipple with his fingertip. "I've never felt anything like that before." A pause. "You realize what power you're sitting on top of, don't you?" His voice contained what almost sounded like a warning.

"Yes, I know," Yumichika replied. "And that was only the tiniest fraction of my reiatsu. If I had released any more, you _would_ have hurt me. That's why I'm careful."

Mendalo shook his head, still in awe. He propped himself up on his forearms. "You could bring an entire army to its knees with that."

"And then I would have to protect myself from them," Yumichika replied, and his voice suddenly sounded pensive, even sad. "Believe me, it's not an easy power to put into use."

Mendalo noticed the change in mood immediately. "What's wrong?"

Yumichika was silent for several seconds. His seductive ability _was_ a difficult power to put to use. Ruri'iro Kujaku's ability to drain reiatsu was difficult to put to use. Everything he was good at was of only limited value under the current circumstances. By all accounts, he believed he could be one of the most powerful Shinigami in Soul Society; but the very nature of his power, of his zanpakuto's power, prevented it. For the first time, the thought entered his mind. He _did_ wish Ruri'iro Kujaku were something else, in possession of some other ability. The idea flashed into his mind but was forced out so quickly, he barely gave it consideration. But it had been there. He could not deny it.

"Yumichika?"

Yumichika looked down to see Mendalo peering up at him with inquiring eyes.

"Oh, it's . . . I'm having problems with my zanpakuto," he admitted.

"Really?" Mendalo sat up, straddling Yumichika's waist. As a maker of zanpakuto, this was a topic that interested him. "What's going on?"

Yumichika shrugged. "It just seems like every time we're together, we fight. And earlier today, he did something that . . . infuriated me."

Mendalo gave a knowing nod. "I noticed you seemed kind of moody earlier in the tavern."

"Was it that obvious?"

"To me, it was," Mendalo replied. "But you seemed to recover your spirits as the evening went on, so I didn't ask." He slid down to sit across Yumichika's thighs, drawing him into an upright position, where they sat facing each other. "Remember I said earlier that I wondered what kind of zanpakuto you had? Well now, I'm asking."

"Hmph! You don't want to know," Yumichika grumbled, but he went on without prompting. "I had him the last time we were together, you know? I've had him for over twenty years."

This seemed to shock Mendalo.

"Twenty years?"

"He's one of those zanpakuto who was born of his master's spirit," Yumichika explained. "Believe me, I didn't want him, and there have been plenty of times when I wish he'd just go away."

"What's his name?"

"Fuji Kujaku."

A smile spread slowly across Mendalo's face. "The Wisteria Peacock."

"What's so funny?" Yumichika asked.

"It's perfect for you," Mendalo laughed.

"Meaning?" Yumichika feigned indignance and leaning away from his lover.

"Meaning . . . okay, let's see. If he's a peacock, he's got to be proud, right?" Mendalo posited.

"Arrogant," Yumichika corrected.

"And I'll bet he's beautiful," Mendalo went on.

Yumichika did not hesitate. "More dazzling than the sun."

"Demanding?"

"Bossy."

"Jealous?"

"Ha! Possessive!"

"Difficult?"

Yumichika was enjoying this game. "Impossible."

"Spoiled?"

"Rotten."

"Erotic?"

"Without even trying."

Mendalo drew Yumichika close again until their lips brushed, speaking in a near-whisper. "Powerful."

"Insanely." Yumichika ended the word by pressing his mouth against Mendalo's in a tantalizing kiss. As he withdrew, he waited for the next descriptor, but instead he saw Mendalo grinning once again in the firelight.

"You know who I was just describing?"

Yumichika hesitated for a moment, then as it dawned on him, he regarded Mendalo with mock outrage. "Don't tell me you think _I'm_ like that."

"You're exactly like that."

"Ha! How can you say that? You don't even know me. Over seven months, we've been together less than 24 hours—"

"Oh, I knew you well enough to lure you into my bed . . . twice," Mendalo chuckled.

"The first time doesn't count," Yumichika protested. "You had something I needed."

"I still have something you need," Mendalo stated.

Yumichika simpered and scooted out from under him but Mendalo snatched his wrist and pulled him down on top of him among the pillows in front of the fireplace.

"You need attention," the swordsmith explained. "You crave it. Oh, I saw you walking through that crowd in The Red Lion. You were the center of attention, and you loved it."

"I can get that kind of attention anywhere," Yumichika said arrogantly.

"Yes, but is that the kind you really want? The kind you need?" Mendalo challenged.

Instead of answering right away, Yumichika hesitated a moment. "Sometimes." Then he turned the questions back on the smithy. "If I'm all those things you said, why do you want to be with me?"

Mendalo was honest. "Because, on you, I like those things."

"Well, then you'd love Fuji Kujaku," Yumichika replied. "If I'm all those things, he's ten times worse. He's probably listening to me right now, and I don't care if he is."

"Listening to you?"

"Another one of his many skills. He can go right around my defenses and see and hear everything I do," Yumichika said contemptuously. Speaking of Ruri'iro Kujaku was starting to upset him again.

"You—you've had him for twenty years, but you can't suppress his ability to use your senses?" There was actually a hint of concern in Mendalo's voice.

"Not when he wants to use them," Yumichika replied. "Like I said, he's insanely powerful." A pause. "You know, when we were making love, I couldn't tell you—I couldn't tell you if what you were feeling was just my reiatsu or if you were able to sense some of Fuji Kujaku's. He—he's more than anyone can resist."

"Well, that's something else you both have in common," Mendalo stated.

"Right now, it might be the only thing," Yumichika said bluntly.

"So, what's the problem between you two?"

Yumichika faltered. He had to answer carefully, so as not to give too much away. "It's like I said . . . he's spoiled and a—a complete egomaniac. All he wants is to show off in front of everyone else, and he fights me on everything I say." He sighed heavily. "And I don't understand how it got this way. We used to be . . . I used to think that I could spend every second with him and never grow tired of it. Now, the sight of him . . . all he ever thinks of is himself."

"Did you ever think that maybe the reason you two don't get along is because you're so much alike?"

The words almost burned. Yumichika shook his head and a pained expression showed in his eyes. "I'm not like he is."

"He's born of your soul," Mendalo reminded him. "Maybe he is a more intense manifestation of your characteristics, but everything he is had to come from you in some form or other. He wants what he wants; you want what you want. And unless you both want the same things, you're going to butt heads." A pause. "Yumichika, everyone eventually has some contention with their zanpakuto. It's the nature of the weapons themselves. They're made for combat. They're not going to be easily mastered."

Yumichika frowned. Mendalo might be right, but he didn't know the whole story, and Yumichika could not tell it to him. He did not know of Yumichika keeping Ruri'iro Kujaku's true powers hidden or why. He did not know of the secrets the zanpakuto had withheld from his master. He did not know all that had transpired in the past twenty years that had resulted in the current situation.

And he must never know. Yumichika's past was something that must be closely guarded.

"I may have given life to him, but he's not like me. And the way things are going, I doubt I'll ever master him."

Mendalo could hear the upset coming through, and he did not want to spoil the evening.

"Give it time."

He rolled to his side and slid his hand between their bodies, massaging the silk-like skin of his lover's most private parts – though not private to him.

Yumichika drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Are you trying to get me going again?"

"I'm hoping," Mendalo replied. "I'm ready to feel some more of that reiatsu."

And Yumichika was ready to lose himself in the throes of another session. "I think I can manage that."

This one, he would make sure, lasted until the sunrise.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Dear Reader, This chapter may come as a surprise to a lot of you. The title says "Ikkaku's Decision", but of course, it was really my decision as the writer; and I based it off the interaction I saw in the manga/anime that I really liked between Ikkaku and the person I decided to make his mentor. Some of you might grimace a bit, but go back and watch the scenes where these two are together. There's a lot of great dialogue and deeper meaning - in my humble opinion. Yumichika, on the other hand . . . well, what can you do with him? He's turning into the character we see at the beginning of the manga! You all know I had to get there somehow! Lastly, I wrote the scene between Ruri'iro Kujaku and Hoozukimaru to be completely over-the-top. I normally despise mush, but as I was re-watching the Zanpakuto Rebellion Arc episodes recently, it occured to me just how dramatic and fantastic these two characters are - almost caricatures of the dandy and the stoic. So, I wrote the scene that way. I hope you enjoy it! It's a little bit of a departure for me!**_

_**In case I don't get another chapter up before the holiday, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas!**_

_**Peace,**_

_**The Kujaku**_

* * *

Chapter 9 Ikkaku's Decision

"_I can lead you.  
__Is your soul afraid?  
__Afraid of what you've made?  
__Do you know the way the spirit goes?"_

_The Spirit  
_Graeme Edge

* * *

This just didn't make any sense. No matter how he tried to reason his way through it, no matter what course of logic he followed, it just wasn't adding up. He checked his readings again. And again.

And always, they were the same.

He needed to point this out to someone, but the only one nearby was . . .

"Third Seat Muguru?"

Third Seat Muguru raised his head on its long stalk-like neck. "What?" He sounded irritated. He always sounded irritated.

Akon hated him. And that was saying something, considering Akon was one of the most accommodating members of the Gotei 13, and certainly the most pleasant in Squad Twelve. But then again, he was young and had not yet developed the cynicism and grotesque sense of self-importance that other members of his squad had.

"I think you might want to see these readings, Sir," Akon replied in such a way that no one would ever guess how much he detested the third seat.

Muguru skittered over on his spindly legs, nudged Akon roughly aside, and looked at the metering equipment. It took him less than ten seconds to see what the problem was. And only a second longer to turn fiercely to the eighth seat, curl his fingers into the white folds of his lab coat, and draw him up on his toes.

"Are you just now noticing this?!" he demanded.

Akon was not intimidated. He answered evenly. "I noticed the readings were low when I took them on the day of the explosion, and I thought it was odd, because with so many zanpakuto destroyed, there should have been high readings of residual spirit energy—"

"Did you show anyone those readings?!"

"I showed them to Fourth Seat Keme and Fifth Seat Oyukashi at the time," Akon replied. "I haven't been back out here since then, so I wasn't the one taking the interim readings. But . . ." He paused. " . . . you can see that the readings I took today—just now—are almost exactly the same as a month ago. You'd expect that any residual reiatsu would have dissipated, but there was hardly any residual to begin with. I thought maybe the low reading that day was an anomaly, but no one else seemed too concerned about it. What happened to all these swords' energy? Where did it go?"

Muguru released him. "That's a good question." He stroked his bony chin. "That oaf from Squad Eleven said he saw someone fleeing the area . . . "

"Do you think whoever did this could have found a way to trap spirit energy, and he took _these_ swords' energy?" Akon asked.

"I would say that's a very good possibility," Muguru answered. "Although why anyone would want Asauchi spirit energy is beyond me. There are much stronger zanpakuto if you're going to go to the trouble of stealing spirit energy."

"Maybe these ones were easy targets, since they don't have Shinigami."

"Either way, we're going to have to tell Captain Kurotsuchi," Muguru spoke the words as if they were a death sentence. "Damn it, why didn't you tell him about this a month ago! Then we wouldn't be in this situation!"

"Tell me what?"

The sound of Captain Kurotsuchi's voice froze both men in place. For however much they disliked each other, at this moment, they were bound together by one thing.

Fear.

* * *

Ikkaku opened his door and looked outside onto the inner quarter. The ground was at least a foot deep in white.

It had snowed all night.

He had left The Marble Fountain just past two o'clock in the morning, having waited all night to see if Matsumoto would show up. When it became clear that she was not coming, he'd left with Iba and staggered back to the Squad Eleven area through a gentle rain of snowflakes. He'd stopped by Yumichika's room and found it empty. A moment of anger tousled his head only briefly before drunkenness and fatigue consumed it, and he continued on to his room where he fell asleep fully clothed and only halfway on the futon.

It was now shortly before sunrise, and today was a duty day. Ikkaku had only about fifteen minutes before he was due in formation. No time to bathe but he could splash some water on his face, slosh a mouthful of wash, and change quickly into a fresh uniform.

Within ten minutes he was on his way to the Squad Eleven indoor training room, a bit neater, but the smell of alcohol still unmistakable on his body. He went by Yumichika's room.

Still empty.

A knot tightened in his stomach. The bed was not slept in. Yumichika had not come home all night.

Oh, the sensation creeping up his throat and sending the warmth into his face . . . he tried to pass it off as concern, as worry. But it was neither. He knew very well what it was, and he was both stunned and embarrassed that he could feel this way. He wasted no time dawdling about the room but tromped through the snow towards the training room, focusing on his labor in an attempt to push Yumichika out of his thoughts.

But he was not successful. Each step only made him wonder if he would see Yumichika at formation. What would he say to him? How should he act? Bursting in through the large double doors, he found most of the squad members already present, standing casually in place, chatting, boasting, exaggerating – the things he'd come to expect and love from Squad Eleven.

Conspicuously absent was Yumichika. Conspicuous because he was usually one of the first officers to show up for any formation.

"What did you do, _walk_ through the snow?"

Ikkaku turned to one of the rank and file who had noticed the snow-caked hem of Ikkaku's hakama and his reddened toes, for Ikkaku refused to wear the tabi socks with his waraji. Even in the bitter cold of Venla winters, he'd instead simply worn a moccasin type shoe.

"Oh—yeah. Yeah." No further explanation was forthcoming. Yes, he could have used flashstep to avoid going through the snow, but it was hardly a concern. Ikkaku had only one interest at the moment. He walked into the room, his eyes searching, but he knew Yumichika was not there. Yumichika would have been in his place at the head of one of the sections. And Ikkaku would have been able to feel his reiatsu.

Less than a minute later, the doors opened again and someone called the room to attention. Captain Zaraki entered with Yachiru latched onto his back, peering over his shoulder.

The captain stood in front of his assembled troops and regarded them with a scowl. Ikkaku could already see he was in a bad mood.

"Because of the damned snow, we're stuck inside today," he snarled. "So, we're going to practice hakuda. I want to see everyone matching. And no bullshit. If you screw around or don't make it real, you'll find yourself facing off against me. And you know I'll make it _real._"

At that moment, the door opened again.

And in rushed Yumichika, stopping only momentarily as he saw that he was late and all eyes were upon him.

Ikkaku saw him swallow and hurry towards his place, but as he passed in front of Zaraki, the captain reached out and snagged the back of his kosode.

"Ayasegawa, you just volunteered to be my sparring partner," Kenpachi said in his maniacal way. "The rest of you, get to it!"

Yumichika's expression of near terror gave Ikkaku a feeling a vengeful satisfaction, but he could not let him go up against Captain Zaraki – not even in a spar. The captain would crush him without even trying. As the others broke into pairs, Ikkaku approached his captain.

"Captain, I think it would be better if Yumichika was paired off with someone else," he stated.

"Oh yeah? Why?" Zaraki asked, glaring down at him. "I've never had a chance to match with him, and I think it could be interesting. After all, he's defeated a hollow."

"Captain, I—I wouldn't stand a chance against you in hakuda," Yumichika implored. "I wouldn't be a challenge to you—"

"Captain, I'd make a much better adversary for you," Ikkaku persisted.

"You know, I have a better idea," Zaraki said with a sinister sneer. "I think_ you two_ need to go hand-to-hand." He nodded. "Yeah, I think that would be a more interesting matchup. You two haven't fought each other since you joined."

Ikkaku grinned. "I think that's a great idea."

Yumichika detected it in his eyes and his voice: Ikkaku was miffed, and it was no mystery why. Sparring with Ikkaku under the circumstances probably was not the best idea, but it was definitely preferable to facing Zaraki, who would turn him into noodles.

"Yay! Baldy against Wierdo! Baldy against Wierdo!" Yachiru chirped.

"Okay, let's get going," Zaraki ordered. "Zanpakuto over there."

The two men set down their zanpakuto and faced off. Yumichika could see the gleam in Ikkaku's eye, and he knew it was going to be a long day.

No sooner had Zaraki given the command to fight than Yumichika found himself backstepping as if he had come upon and was trying to escape from a bar room brawl. Ikkaku came at him with fists swinging – not a very Shinigami-like way of fighting. But it was the method Yumichika most associated with Ikkaku, and he could not counter it with muscle he did not have.

In a matter of seconds, he had his proof of this as Ikkaku's fist made contact with his temple, and in that instant of being dazed, he was slammed down on his back, the breath forced from his lungs. He did not stand a chance when Ikkaku was able to close with him, and he would be paying the price for his physical slightness for the next hour or more.

Ikkaku dropped down on top of him and pressed his forearm across his neck, marking the win.

"Okay, back to your starting positions," Zaraki ordered. "And man, you'd better do better than that this time, both of you. That was pathetic."

Ikkaku got up and extended a hand to Yumichika, who was still catching his breath as he accepted the assistance. In pulling Yumichika to his feet, Ikkaku pulled him close enough to speak quietly in his ear. "Late night?"

"Ohh . . . yeah," Yumichika replied evasively. "I overslept."

They took up their positions. Ikkaku's voice was loud enough for only Yumichika to hear. "I checked in on you last night but you weren't there."

"You knew I was going to be out," Yumichika answered.

Captain Zaraki gave the order, "Fight!"

Ikkaku lunged and Yumichika flash-stepped aside, turning as he moved and clasping his fists together to bring them down on the back of Ikkaku's neck with as much force as he could muster. When Ikkaku went to the ground, Yumichika dropped down onto his back, leading with his elbow and delivering a powerful blow across his spine. This victory belonged to Yumichika.

After two more spars, Ikkaku realized that Yumichika would not initiate the contact. Instead, the smaller man always waited for Ikkaku to make the first move, then he used his speed to counter by lashing out from a safe distance and preventing Ikkaku from using his greater weight and strength in close quarters. As such, Yumichika actually won the next two matches, and this only added to Ikkaku's ire and frustration.

On the next contest, Ikkaku waited.

And waited.

Yumichika absolutely would not attack.

So, Ikkaku got an idea. He made a feint, pretending to swipe at him. Yumichika sprang back. Ikkaku repeated the action. Yumichika sprang back again. The third time, Ikkaku made a double feint, one swipe followed immediately by a full charge, catching Yumichika around the waist and driving him backwards until they both went down; but Yumichika turned the table as they headed for the floor, twisting around to force Ikkaku underneath him as they hit the surface.

But this was precisely what Ikkaku wanted – they were body to body, and in such a situation, Yumichika could not defeat him. Now his determination to win was more inflamed than ever. He wrapped his legs around Yumichika's lower body, squeezing with all his strength. He saw Yumichika's arm angling down for a blow to the face, and in the process of blocking it, he gripped Yumichika's wrist then grappled for the other one until he had both hands in his grasp. Now, with Yumichika completely immobilized, Ikkaku rolled over so that he was on top.

"I didn't realize you were going to be out all night," he hissed.

"Can we talk about this later?" Yumichika asked. "Can you just pin me? You're squeezing the life out of me. And . . . you stink of alcohol."

Ikkaku smiled wickedly. He constricted his limbs even tighter. Yumichika cried out in a burst of laughter. "Are you crazy?!" He was seeing jealous Ikkaku at work, and he could not help but find it funny.

"Where were you all night?" Ikkaku demanded.

"That's my business," Yumichika replied. "Now, let me go before I have to take drastic action."

"What the hell are you two doing?!" Zaraki's voice boomed over the room. "Are you in love with each other? Damn, make the win or get off each other!"

"He can't even move! The win is mine!" Ikkaku burst out. "I'm just rubbing it in." He said the last sentence with one more intense contraction. And then suddenly he was being torn away from Yumichika and tossed to the floor.

"Who the hell—" He looked up to see Lieutenant Kusajishi looking down at him with a toothy smile.

"Start again!" she cried.

Ikkaku glanced over to his left. Yumichika was picking himself up off the floor.

"Can we—can we switch partners?" he asked, touching his bruised temple with one hand and rubbing his neck with the other.

Oh, that had done it.

An almost sinister smile broadened Kenpachi Zaraki's mouth. "You know, I was thinking the same thing." He got to his feet and strode over to where the two men stood waiting for him. "Let's see what the two of you together can do against me."

Ikkaku's heart almost leapt out of his chest from joy. He was going to get to spar with his captain! What could possibly be better?

As for Yumichika . . . he wondered what could possibly be worse.

* * *

Ruri'iro Kujaku was trembling. He was so outraged, so distraught . . . so disgusted that he could not stop the emotion from showing in his body. He knew he shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have used Yumichika's senses. He'd known it would not do anything to help the situation between him and his master. But he'd done it and now it was too late to undo, too late to unsee what he'd seen; too late to unhear what he'd heard.

It had been hours since his master had left the rooms of the sword vendor. Hours since the sex had ended. Hours since his master had said all those terrible things about him.

And yet, the hurt was still fresh, still immediate.

Everything was unraveling so quickly—

"Flashy?"

Ruri'iro was startled out of his thoughts. He looked down from where he sat in one of the high window arches of the shrine.

"Hoozukimaru," he acknowledged listlessly.

The dragon waited a few seconds, but when Ruri'iro Kujaku did not leave the ledge, Hoozukimaru said, "Come down."

"I want to be alone," Ruri'iro said softly.

Hoozukimaru was doubtful. "You never want to be alone. What's happened?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was silent for a long time. When he finally answered, his voice was barely above a whisper. "It's over. I've lost him forever.'

This sounded like a dramatic overstatement, a habit the peacock excelled at. Still, Hoozukimaru could hear something different in his voice this time, and it concerned him.

"Come down and tell me," the dragon persisted.

"I really want to be alone," Ruri'iro repeated, turning his gaze out the window.

"You know I'm not leaving when you're this unhappy. Don't make me come up there and get you," Hoozukimaru warned. "You know I'll do it."

Ruri'iro considered. He knew Hoozukimaru was not exaggerating. He could argue with him, but that would only make things worse. He leaped down from the window, landing lightly in front of him.

Right away, Hoozukimaru could see the hopelessness in the downcast eyes.

"Okay, so tell me what happened," he said.

Ruri'iro Kujaku could not look at him. "He's trying to change everything."

"Oh, that explains it," Hoozukimaru quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"It's not funny," the peacock groaned, turning to direct his gaze out the lower window.

Hoozukimaru sighed. "I'm sorry. I just hate seeing you like this. What did he do?"

After a few good seconds of sulking, Ruri'iro Kujaku replied, "He keeps finding ways to surpass me."

Hoozukimaru sat in dumbfounded silence.

"He's growing stronger and leaving me behind," the forlorn peacock went on.

"Don't be stupid. He can't leave you behind, you know that," Hoozukimaru pointed out, at which Ruri'iro Kujaku gave a cry of anguish and started to walk away. Hoozukimaru reached out and pulled him back. He was surprised when Ruri'iro Kujaku collapsed into his arms, bursting into tears.

The dragon was stunned and unsure what to do. He had thought Ruri'iro was being his usual histrionic self, but now he could see that the pain was real and deep. So deep as to reduce him to uncontrollable sobbing. He'd known that the kujaku was emotional and hopelessly in love with his master, but he hadn't realized how desperate he was for his master's attention.

He berated himself; he should have known. He had seen first-hand how much Ruri'iro Kujaku coveted and pined for his master. He'd known, each and every time the peacock had derided Yumichika, each and every time he'd insisted that he'd had enough of his master's unkindness and that he was going to turn his back on him – Hoozukimaru had known that it was all bluster. He had been absolutely certain that Ruri'iro Kujaku would never abandon the relationship he had with his master.

But the idea that Yumichika might abandon his relationship with Ruri'iro Kujaku – that had never entered the realm of possibilities. Still, something so devastating had occurred that Ruri'iro Kujaku was here bawling in his arms.

"Uh . . . it's okay," he said in an attempt to comfort, patting him awkwardly on the back.

"It's not okay! It's not okay!" Ruri'iro Kujaku wailed. "My master doesn't want me! That's not okay!"

Hoozukimaru said nothing, opting to let his distraught companion wring himself dry. The tears couldn't last forever.

But they stretched on for much longer than he'd believed possible. At length, when Ruri'iro Kujaku grew quiet, he decided it was safe to ask for the full story.

"So, tell me exactly what's got you so upset," he said, keeping his arms loosely around him and slowly growing more comfortable with the closeness. "What happened? Did he imprison you again?"

"No," Ruri'iro Kujaku sniffed. "He's surpassing me, and . . . he . . . he hates me."

Hoozukimaru would tackle one issue at a time. "How is he surpassing you?"

"He—he—" The peacock got no further before relapsing into sobs. But this time, it was brief, and when he resumed speaking, his words were catching and clipped. "He could s-see me—but I—I couldn't see him."

Hoozukimaru knew what he was referring to, for Ruri'iro had explained it to him before. He was about to comment, but now that Ruri'iro had gotten the first words out, the flood gates opened and the story poured out.

"He entered through here, through the shrine," he blubbered. "He came through the shrine! He's never done that before . . . " His voice was lost in a choked cry.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Th-this is where all m-my power comes from," Ruri'iro replied, "He knew that. That's why he entered here."

"I don't understand," Hoozukimaru said, perplexed. "I thought the lake was your power."

"No . . . the lake is . . . like a reservoir of my reiatsu," Ruri'iro replied. "But the source of my power is here. The shrine . . . defines who I am."

"So, what was wrong with little pretty entering through here?" Hoozukimaru pressed.

Ruri'iro Kujaku seemed to struggle with the answer. At last, he said, "He did it because he wants to dominate me, and . . . and he saw things that I didn't want him to see."

"I don't—"

"He saw aspects of my power that I don't want him to know about!" the peacock blurted out.

Now, Hoozukimaru was completely baffled. "What are you talking about?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku hesitated. "What do you see in here?"

Hoozukimaru looked at him with questioning eyes. "What do I see? I see a shrine. Walls, floor, ceiling, windows."

"Do you see a throne?"

The dragon knit his brows. "No."

"Do you see images on the walls and the floor?" Ruri'iro went on.

"I see the flowers in the mosaic over there, but that's it." He narrowed his eyes. "Why? What should I see?"

"I don't know if it's something you should see or not. I just know that for a long time, only I could see them. My master couldn't, but when he entered through the shrine, he was suddenly able to see them, too," Ruri'iro stated.

"See what? What are they?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku hesitated. Did he want to reveal this secret to Hoozukimaru? As fond as he was of the dragon, it was not an easy decision. This was something he had wanted to keep for himself. But that secrecy was now breached—by his master—so what difference did it make?

"The walls and the floor . . . even the ceiling – they're all covered with images. Animals, woodlands, fields, the sea . . . birds and swimming things. Every inch is covered with some image or other. And on the dais, there's a great throne in the shape of a peacock," Ruri'iro described.

Hoozukimaru did not doubt a single word.

"I don't know how to show it to you," Ruri'iro went on, sounding distressed.

"You don't need to show me. I believe you," Hoozukimaru assured him.

"And my master never saw the images until he entered through the shrine," Ruri'iro said. "But now, he's seen them, and . . . "

"I don't understand what's wrong with that, though," Hoozukimaru said curiously. "Why wouldn't you want him to see the images?"

"Because there are some things that belong to _me_ – and me alone. But now he's seen them and . . . he's going to want those powers for himself."

"What kind of powers?"

"I . . . I'm not even sure myself," Ruri'iro Kujaku moaned. "I can only say that . . . I can make the images come to life. I was still learning about it when this happened. But now, by entering through the shrine, my master was able to see them, and . . . if he gains power over them, he'll have complete dominion over me."

"How can you be sure of that if you don't even know yourself what they represent?" the dragon asked.

Ruri'iro Kujaku's veneer of calm shattered again, and he wept openly. "I just know. I just know. He'll increase his power, and I'll become just some tool he uses to do his bidding – nothing more than a weapon."

"Flashy . . . " Hoozukimaru began in a careful voice. He didn't want to make things worse. "A Shinigami is supposed to master his zanpakuto. He's supposed to dominate it. And of course, we don't want to be mastered. We make them fight for it every step of the way. But you shouldn't be angry that he's increasing his own power."

"But it isn't his power! It's mine!" Ruri'iro Kujaku protested vehemently.

"You know better," Hoozukimaru chastised. "Every power you have comes from him. He may not be aware of every facet of his power, even if you are. But it still belongs to him."

Ruri'iro Kujaku shook his head and drew away, sniffing back the tears in a show of shaky resolution. He walked towards the doorway. "I'm done trying. I can't make him love me."

This was what Hoozukimaru had suspected what truly at the root of the kujaku's pain. "Would you care about him coming through the shrine if he did love you?"

"He'll never love me," Ruri'iro replied, disregarding the question. "He's too busy throwing his love away on meaningless . . . "

"Meaningless what?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku stopped in his tracks and was silent for a long time. At last, he spoke in a voice so weighted down with defeat, the words sank like rocks in a pond. "He's gone back to his old ways."

"His old ways? What were his old ways?" Hoozukimaru asked.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was again trembling as he spoke. "Sex with anyone who comes along and makes him feel good."

Hoozukimaru was brought up short by this explanation. "That doesn't sound like little pretty."

"Well, it is!" Ruri'iro exclaimed. "It's what he used to do and it's what he's doing now! I—I thought he had turned away from it, but I was wrong! He can't leave it behind! He's a glutton for attention, and that's how he gets it!"

Hoozukimaru frowned. "I just can't believe that."

"You don't have to," Ruri'iro sighed. "I'm the only one who has to believe it."

Hoozukimaru caught him up on the threshold. "So, what is it you're really upset about? Little pretty entering through the shrine or his personal activity?"

"Both," came the dejected reply.

Hoozukimaru looked closely at him. "There's more, isn't there?"

After several seconds, Ruri'iro Kujaku replied, "He said . . . he said that he wishes I would go away."

Uh-oh. That did it. The waterworks were going to be fully unleashed again unless Hoozukimaru did something to staunch them.

"He said that to you?"

"I heard him say it . . . to the sword vendor."

"So, you were listening," Hoozukimaru rebuked. "You know he doesn't want you to use his senses, but you did it anyway, and now your feelings are hurt." He was hoping to ignite some self-righteous indignation in the peacock as a way of heading off another pitiful display.

"He said there have been plenty of times he's wanted me to go away," Ruri'iro continued, perhaps a bit more anger now entering his voice. "He called me bossy and arrogant and . . . possessive. He said I was spoiled and impossible."

Hoozukimaru cocked his head to one side. "Well . . . you are kind of that way—"

Ruri'iro turned an angry countenance. "Shut up!" he cried, trying to push his way past the much larger dragon.

"You didn't let me finish," Hoozukimaru stated, gathering the flailing bird into his arms. "You can be those things, but that's not all you are." He paused until he had Ruri'iro's full, unstruggling attention. "I'm not going to say anything to give you a bigger head than you already have. But I'll speak what I know, and I know that you're the perfect fit for Ayasegawa. Maybe he doesn't realize it right now—and believe me, my master's not making things any easier for him—but he'll figure it out eventually . . . because anything that he sees in himself as good, he'll have to know that you possess that same quality."

Ruri'iro sighed loudly. "I know you're trying to help," he conceded. "But it's too late. He's—he's made his feelings clear, and I need to accept that he'll never feel the same way about me that I feel about him." He paused and a sort of determined expression came into his face. "He's my master, and I'm his zanpakuto. And that's all we're going to be to each other – a weapon and its wielder. That's how he wants it. That's how it will be."

Hoozukimaru shook his head. He was witnessing what he was sure was another over-reaction. "Flashy, don't you think you're—"

Ruri'iro turned to face him. He seemed to have found a dull calmness to replace the upset of only moments' earlier. "Thanks for worrying about me, but you don't need to. I'll be fine."

"Well, I'm not so—"

"I'll be fine," Ruri'iro Kujaku repeated, then he reached up and rubbed one shoulder in a tired manner. "But right now, I just want to take a rest."

Hoozukimaru nodded. "Fine." He pulled Ruri'iro to his chest and dropped to the floor, the surprised Kujaku still in his grasp.

"What are you—" Ruri'iro began, but Hoozukimaru cut him off.

"I'm soft enough to make a good pillow, and . . . right now, I don't trust you not to do something stupid. This way, you'll have to get past me first," he said in a stern voice. "Just don't start blubbering again. I can't stand that. I draw the line at you crying all over me." He shook his head even as he said the words, knowing that it was a line he could never hold. He could no more turn away Ruri'iro Kujaku than he could disown his own existence. The peacock, with all his faults and peculiarities, had found a place in his heart, not likely to ever be removed. It was definitely beyond Hoozukimaru's ability to comprehend or explain, for he was as different from Ruri'iro Kujaku as his master was from Yumichika. But there was something about being in Ruri'iro Kujaku's presence that, despite any drama, had a beatific effect on him, and being that he was a creature of action and fire, the occasional soothing was welcome. "Try to keep things dry, huh?"

A faint but genuine smile found its way into Ruri'iro's expression. "I'm sorry about that." He settled against the furred chest and closed his eyes. "I'm glad you came."

Hoozukimaru spoke truthfully.

"Me, too."

* * *

"Hoo, this is all your fault," Ikkaku grimaced, stumbling to one of the wooden benches that lined the interior wall of the training room. He nearly collapsed onto the seat, trailing his sword in one hand and wiping blood out of his eye with the other.

"How's it my fault?" Yumichika asked, dropping down beside him, then deciding that upright was too difficult a position and sliding to the floor where he lay on his back, chest heaving, entire body aching.

"If you hadn't come in late, the captain never would have singled you out, and I wouldn't have had to bail you out—"

"You didn't have to bail me out," Yumichika replied. "Besides, I thought you liked fighting the captain."

"Fighting, yes. Getting crushed, no," Ikkaku retorted. "Damn, I'm never going to be as strong as he is."

"I think few ever will be," Yumichika said, rubbing his side. He wondered if he had some broken ribs.

"Damn, this thing won't stop bleeding," Ikkaku groused, poking at the gouge over his eye.

"I can run back to my room and get some of the healing balm," Yumichika offered.

"We should find a way to carry it with us," Ikkaku said. "Or at least, I should. You can always rely on Fuji Kujaku to take care of you."

Yumichika did not reply to that statement. Ikkaku did not need to know just how far that situation had deteriorated.

Yumichika struggled to his feet. "I'll go get it."

"Nah," Ikkaku protested. "I'll be fine. It'll stop eventually." A pause. "So, where were you all night?"

Yumichika sighed. "Does it matter?"

"Were you with Mendalo?" Ikkaku pressed.

"What difference does it make?" Yumichika pushed back. "I can do as I please, can't I?"

"Of course," Ikkaku answered. "It's just that sometimes the things you _please_ to do end up being stupid and getting you into trouble."

"There's no chance of that with Mendalo—"

"So, you _were_ with him all night," Ikkaku assumed.

Yumichika exhaled heavily. "Yes."

A long silence followed until Yumichika couldn't stand it anymore.

"Does that bother you? I mean—it shouldn't bother you. Mendalo is a good man," he stated.

"He seems that way," Ikkaku agreed.

"So, what's wrong with me spending time with him?" Yumichika asked.

Ikkaku was not a fool, but nor was he looking to pick a fight. He knew what kind of time Yumichika was spending with the swordsmith; and although it might irritate him, he had no reason to warn Yumichika away from it. This was nothing like what Yumichika used to do in Mito. There was no reason for Ikkaku to get anxious or protective.

Yet.

"There's nothing wrong," Ikkaku replied. "I guess I'm just not used to . . . I'm not used to you having a life."

This made Yumichika laugh. "That's because _you _were my whole life."

But Ikkaku did not laugh. He leaned back against the wall, holding two fingers over the now-oozing gouge. "Yeah."

Yumichika was surprised at the subdued reaction. He suddenly felt as if he needed to justify his shift in attention. "But you didn't want it to be that way," he explained hastily. "And maybe it took me a long time to accept that, but . . . now I have."

His words, meant to sooth and placate a jealous temper, had the unforeseen effect of making Ikkaku feel worse. Only Ikkaku did not know why the words bothered him so much. He was not sure he believed them. Was he really buying the idea that the appearance of Mendalo had somehow wrought such a change in Yumichika's affections? Or was it more likely that Yumichika was simply reverting to an enjoyment of unfettered sensual appetites?

Ikkaku had no answer to his own quandary. He got to his feet.

"So it would seem." He walked away.

* * *

Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi sat in the darkness.

Alone.

In complete silence.

His thoughts were his only company. And he often preferred it that way. Most other sentient beings were too ignorant to be of any use to him. Or they were filled with sentimental mush and still of no use to him.

But the information he had just received was definitely of use – and of interest to him.

After overhearing Third Seat Muguru speaking with the young boy – what was his name?—Kurotsuchi could not recall – after hearing their conversation, he'd demanded an explanation.

And he had certainly gotten one.

The fact that two of his senior officers had already received the information about the earlier readings at the start of the investigation and decided not to pass it on to him had been particularly scintillating, as it gave him the impetus and justification to inflict punishment upon them as he saw fit.

And he had done just that – with great relish.

But now, he had to figure out what the information meant. It was true that a violent explosion could have scattered the zanpakuto's spirit energy and diminished the reading; but not to such a level as to be almost nondetectable.

No, it seemed more likely that the reiatsu had been siphoned off somehow and removed from the scene altogether. But that was not a skill that Captain Kurotsuchi had ever encountered before, and he wasn't even sure it was possible. Absorbing reiatsu was nothing new, but pinpointed absorption? And it must have happened instantaneously, for the perpetrator was seen fleeing the scene immediately after the explosion, and the readings had been taken less than 24 hours after the event. For the number of destroyed zanpakuto – even weak ones – the reading should have been off the scale.

"So, we have an enemy that can steal reiatsu apparently by siphoning it off from broken zanpakuto," he mused into the darkness. "But precisely how is the question. And why?" A smile began forming on his black lips. The investigation had just become a lot more interesting.

* * *

The entire weekend.

_The entire, damned weekend!_

Yumichika had been gone the entire weekend.

And Ikkaku's magnanimity had run out. A few days earlier, he'd been willing to overlook Yumichika's current fascination, but after three days of him not coming back to his room at all, Ikkaku's patience had been sent packing.

How was it possible that Yumichika would be willing to spend so much time with a man he barely knew – if, in fact, it was true that the two were as unacquainted as Yumichika had made them out to be. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that Yumichika had deceived Ikkaku about the extent of their relationship; how else could he explain falling into bed with the man almost immediately upon their reunion - and Ikkaku was absolutely positive that falling into bed was exactly what Yumichika was doing.

But even if the two really did have a greater history than Ikkaku was aware of, what Yumichika was doing was not right. Yumichika should have learned long ago what such casual sexual encounters might lead to. He definitely knew the power at his fingertips to seduce and tease and drive a man mad with desire. Did he think Mendalo was somehow immune to the perversions he was able to generate with his ability? Or did he just think he was strong enough to defend against anyone who might accost him?

'_He probably is strong enough now,'_ Ikkaku said to himself, _'But why take the chance? Why the hell would he put himself out there like that again?'_

Ikkaku sat up on his futon. His eyes went to the partly open screen, revealing the starlight of a sky only moments short of dawn.

'_He can't really care about this guy,' _ he thought. _'Yumichika's too in love with himself to truly care about anyone else.' _Why couldn't he convince himself of his own words? _'I mean, he cares about me, but that's because of everything we've been through together. What does he have in common with Mendalo, other than the fact that Mendalo told him how to find Zaraki?"_

He got to his feet and went to the bath closet to start getting ready.

His thoughts followed him, and they grew more vitriolic. _'Damn it, he's been out there every night for the past four days screwing the brains out that guy. And I'm not going to put everything back together this time. If he wants to go back to letting anyone fuck him who wants to, then he's going to have to deal with it on his own.' _

He finished getting ready quickly then headed over to the main training room for some early practice before the rest of the squad arrived. But upon entering, he was surprised to see Iba already there, going through some ghost spars of his own.

"Wow, you're here early," Ikkaku stated, coming inside and shaking the snow from his hakama.

"My first day. I want to make a good impression," Iba replied.

"Well, Captain Zaraki doesn't care if you're early," Ikkaku stated. "He only cares if you can fight and if you're strong. You're coming in as—what was it? Going from sixth seat in Squad Nine to eighth seat here? You put your challenge out there right away, and that will impress him. But only if you win."

"I'll take your advice," Iba acknowledged. "And I _will _win. In fact, I could use a bit of a warmup with a real partner."

Ikkaku grinned. "I'm always game."

For the next forty minutes, before anyone else arrived, the two men went at each other using both hakuda and zanjutsu. Ikkaku was impressed, for it was an even match – something he had not been expecting, since he had rarely encountered anyone who could equal his fighting ability – other than Captain Zaraki.

Even after other squad members began to arrive, they kept fighting. And now, having an audience, they both upped their game considerably. Iba, however, refrained from releasing his zanpakuto, knowing that Ikkaku did not have a release with which to counter.

At length, they were forced to call it a draw.

"Now, that was a good fight," Ikkaku enthused, falling back onto the raised platform on one side of the room. "You're the best opponent I've encountered here – besides the captain."

Iba sat beside him. "So, you think I can make fourth seat?"

At that moment, Ikkaku saw Yumichika enter the room, looking fresh as a daisy, demur and radiant.

A wicked grin broadened Ikkaku's lips. Here was a chance for satisfaction.

"Let's find out," he replied, getting to his feet. He walked towards Yumichika.

"Ikkaku," Yumichika beamed.

Ikkaku's only response was to snag his sleeve and lead him over to where Iba was now standing in front of the platform.

"This is the man you have to beat," Ikkaku announced, " . . . if you want to take fourth seat."

Yumichika raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Are you serious?" Iba asked.

"This is Fifth Seat Ayasegawa. You'll have to be better than him to take fourth seat," Ikkaku explained.

Iba couldn't believe his eyes. This petite, delicate thing was fifth seat? This beautiful, almost ethereal soul was the fifth strongest man in the blood-thirsty Zaraki division? "But I thought you said he wouldn't fight for fourth seat, that he didn't want fourth seat? Shouldn't I be fighting someone else?"

"Yes, you—" Yumichika began, but Ikkaku spoke over him.

"If you're going to be fourth seat, you have to be at least stronger than him, so let's see if you are," Ikkaku said.

Yumichika recognized immediately what was going on. "I'm not going to fight him, Ikkaku," he said, crossing his arms. "If he wants to be fourth seat, let him fight someone else who wants to be fourth seat."

"Either way, whoever is fourth seat will have to be stronger than you," Ikkaku said, his voice and expression close to a leer. "And the only way to know if they're stronger is for them to fight you."

"So, am I supposed to serve as the process of elimination now? I'm not going to fight everyone who wants to sit ahead of me," Yumichika refused.

"Well, let's just see how many other men want to sit ahead of you," Ikkaku suggested. He jumped up on the platform. All eyes followed him, for he'd already had their attention.

"So, who else wants to vie for fourth seat?!" he bellowed.

There was murmuring among the assembled squad members, but no one volunteered.

"Come on, there have to be more of you!" Ikkaku pressed. "Someone has to want the fourth seat!"

"Maybe _you _want it."

The sound of Captain Zaraki's voice drew everyone's eyes to the doorway. The captain stood there with the lieutenant on his shoulder.

"Oh-uh, Captain Zaraki, I—I was just—I was—"

"You were asking who wanted the fourth seat, but I'm thinking maybe you want it, because your actions certainly merit a demotion," Zaraki said, moving forward in monster strides.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Ikkaku apologized. "I just—I wanted to—I—"

At that moment, Iba stepped forward. "He was trying to find a challenger for me."

Captain Zaraki looked at him. "Who are you?"

"Iba Tetsuzaemon," he replied. "I transferred from Squad Nine. Today is my first day. I told Third Seat Madarame I was interested in the fourth seat, since it's vacant."

"I see."

Ikkaku interjected, "So, I thought it would be good for him to fight Yumichika, since a fourth seat will have to be stronger than a fifth seat."

"You thought that, huh?" Zaraki scolded. "And you just thought you would take it on yourself to act as captain?"

"No, Sir!" Ikkaku protested. "I was just trying to give Tetsuzaemon an idea of what it takes to make it in this squad!"

Yumichika stood with a smug sneer on his face. After what Ikkaku had just tried to pull on him, he was deriving great satisfaction watching him squirm under Zaraki's dressing down.

"Really?" Now it was Zaraki's turn to show his own twisted sense of humor. "Well then, I think it's better that he fight you to see who gets third seat and who gets fourth."

Ikkaku had not been expecting this, but little matter. It would be a fight worth having. He looked at Iba with a grin, which the other man returned gamely.

"You know the rules," Zaraki stated. "There _are_ no rules. Three matches to disarm or pin."

"With weapons, Captain?" Tetsuzaemon asked.

"With, without – use whatever means necessary to win," Zaraki replied. "I don't care about form or substance. Just victory."

The two men squared off against each other. Ikkaku, knowing Iba had shikai, decided against unsheathing his own sword in the hopes that his opponent would also refrain from using his zanpakuto, where he might have an advantage. Ikkaku felt confident that, in a skin-on-skin matchup, he could defeat Tetsuzaemon.

And he was correct. It took him nearly twenty minutes, during which he took a considerable beating; but he emerged victorious in the first matchup. Iba had followed Ikkaku's lead and not used his zanpakuto.

But when Ikkaku tried to use the same tactic in the second match, this time Iba was not fooled. Zaraki had said victory by any means. Iba brought out his zanpakuto, though not his shikai, forcing Ikkaku to do the same. And here, Ikkaku was roundly defeated in an embarrassing display of tactical failure.

Iba's zanpakuto was a short blade, half the length of Ikkaku's – and this had led the latter to underestimate his opponent's ability to close with him. Ikkaku had assumed Iba would keep some distance between them and only make askance or rear attacks – or less likely, throwing attacks. But that was where he'd been wrong.

Iba knew how to fight using his sword, and he also knew his physical strength was much greater than Ikkaku was giving him credit for. Yes, he'd lost the first round in which they'd used only hakuda; but that had not shaken his confidence. He'd had Ikkaku on the ropes several times and had simply miscalculated the man's willingness to sacrifice his own body in order to gain the win. But he would not underestimate him this time.

This match was much shorter and ended with Iba luring Ikkaku into an ill-conceived lunge, which allowed Iba to get his free hand around Ikkaku's sword-bearing wrist and twist it up behind him. Then using his greater weight and strength, he'd driven Ikkaku down beneath him, both disarming and pinning him.

It was an impressive win, and it got Ikkaku's blood boiling.

They were now tied at one apiece. The next match would determine who would be third seat and who would be fourth. Ikkaku was not ready to lose his seat after only two months in the squad. He was going to have to pull out all the stops, and he knew Iba would be doing the same.

It was the longest single match Ikkaku had ever fought. Both men knew what was at stake, and they pulled out every trick in the book.

On the sidelines, Kenpachi Zaraki watched like an old world emperor presiding over an ancient barbaric game. This was far more exciting than the hollow matchups offered at the pit. Although the hollow matches were fought to the death, they could not match the sheer intensity of the contest between human souls.

Yumichika, sitting on the platform a few feet away from his captain, watched with interest and a real concern that this newcomer might actually defeat Ikkaku, for it was clear that the new man had a long history of warrior training and had a much greater arsenal from which to choose than Ikkaku.

Yumichika watched silently – perhaps the only one in the entire room not vocally involved, for the rest of the room was cheering, catcalling, shouting, cursing. Yumichika had somehow ended up with Lieutenant Kusajishi standing on his lap, her tiny arms around his neck, as she, too, watched the bout, her shrill voice louder than anyone else's.

"Go, Baldy! " one moment. "Yay, Cat Eyes!" the next.

For as often as she cheered one man, she cheered the other, as they were evenly matched and the advantage switched back and forth constantly.

And then Iba released his zanpakuto. It happened so quickly that Yumichika did not catch its name or even the release command. But suddenly the short blade was gone, replaced by a cutlass shaped sword with a peculiar spike-shaped protrusion near the end of the blade.

Now, Iba had the advantage in strength and weapon. One powerful swing of the blade in Iba's hand could end the entire contest.

Ikkaku knew this, and he increased the distance between them as he tried to formulate the best plan of attack. But Iba was not going to give him the luxury of time. He came at him relentlessly, and each blow of the heavy sword against Ikkaku's defending parry rattled the bones in Ikkaku's body down to his spine. Soon, he would not be able to keep a grip on his own weapon.

Damn! He was going to lose this fight! He was really going to lose it.

He was going to be humiliated in front of his squad mates, in front of his captain.

He looked up to see Iba raising his weapon with both arms, preparing to deliver the final blow that would knock Ikkaku's own sword out of his exhausted hands. Ikkaku braced himself for the downswing . . .

What he felt instead shocked him, but it gave him the split-second he needed to think of a countermove. He drove head-first into Iba's gut, doubling him over. Then, bringing his knee up into his chin, he knocked him onto his back, where he then jumped up and kicked the weapon out of his hand.

Disarmed.

Victory.

His position as third seat was safe.

He looked over at Yumichika with venom roiling in his eyes. A quick glance around the room told him he was not the only one who had felt it. The room, despite the conclusion of the match and the emergence of a victor, was absolutely silent. They were still caught in the remnant. Even Captain Zaraki had a curious expression on his face.

None of them knew what they had felt.

But Ikkaku did. He knew it very well.

Yumichika sat as if nothing had happened. His gaze was one of feigned indifference; but inside, he felt tremendous satisfaction, even as he expected that Ikkaku would not be grateful for what he'd done. On his lap, Yachiru had turned her head and was regarding him with . . . suspicion?

Yumichika felt his throat tightening.

"Did you feel that, Wierdo?" the lieutenant asked.

Yumichika swallowed. "Yes." He almost panicked. What did the lieutenant know? She'd been standing right there on his lap when he'd done it. It had only been a breath – barely a wisp – of his reiatsu. She couldn't have detected that it had come from him.

Could she?

"I wonder where it came from," Yachiru said.

"I don't know," Yumichika lied.

The way she stared at him without speaking for the next few seconds almost made Yumichika burst out a confession; but he managed to hold his tongue.

A smile slowly spread across Lieutenant Kusajishi's face. She hugged his neck even tighter but said nothing.

"Looks like you get to keep third seat and we have a new fourth seat," Zaraki's voice boomed out to fill the silence.

At last, the room erupted into cheers.

* * *

It was a good thing Captain Zaraki had ordered the squad to their morning training regimen immediately after the match had ended. That was the only thing that had kept Ikkaku from peeling the flesh from Yumichika bones after his interference. Intentions aside, it was something Yumichika never should have done. It was an insult to Ikkaku's skill and a sign that Yumichika was far too smug in the use of his own ability.

When the squad broke early for the day, Ikkaku headed back towards his room alone, but he was only halfway across the courtyard when Iba caught him up.

"Well, that was a good matchup," Iba grinned. "And it all worked out perfectly. You kept third seat and I got what I wanted – fourth seat."

"Yeah," Ikkaku replied, less enthusiastically. "But it definitely taught me something."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I need to learn shikai."

Iba nodded. "Sorry I had to use it on you, but I wanted to win." He chuckled. "I lost anyway, but I think it was a lot closer because I used shikai."

"Your shikai is impressive. You almost had me there at the end," Ikkaku conceded. He dared not reveal the true reason for Iba's loss.

"Yeah . . . I don't know what happened," Iba said, sounding perplexed. "It was as if –I don't know, suddenly, I just felt . . . distracted."

'_Damn you, Yumichika, now I'll never know if I would have beaten him,' _Ikkaku grumbled internally. Out loud, he said, "But you're off to a good start. Fourth seat."

Iba nodded once. "Yes."

After a few seconds, Ikkaku asked, "How long have you had shikai?"

"Oh, I don't even know anymore. A long time."

"You have a good relationship with your zanpakuto?" Ikkaku asked.

"A great one. We understand each other very well."

"I could tell." Ikkaku was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was tentative. "You know, I, uh, never did find Matsumoto."

"She can be hard to pin down," Iba replied. "She likes to take off on weekends."

"Well . . . I couldn't find her, and I still need someone to help me learn how to communicate with my zanpakuto," Ikkaku went on. "What do you say?"

Iba stopped walking and turned to face him. "You want me to teach you?"

"Yes."

Iba considered for a brief moment. Over the years, he had taught many Shinigami how to communicate with their zanpakuto. Granted, none of them had ever been like Madarame. Iba knew he was standing in the presence of a man of great power and potential. A man who could pose a tremendous danger if left to develop his skills alone. A headstrong, willful man. A man for whom he had already developed a healthy respect.

He found himself excitedly anxious at the prospect of guiding Madarame towards a relationship with his zanpakuto.

He nodded once, resolutely. "I'll do it."

* * *

"Ik-kak-u!"

Yumichika. Sing-song voice.

Here it came.

Ikkaku was lounging in his room, laying among the pillows in front of the fire. It had started snowing again, and the afternoon was perfect for a glass of sake in front of a roaring blaze. He'd not spoken to Yumichika since the match, and he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to him now.

But a moment later, Yumichika was beside him, everything about his manner carefully calculated to disarm and open Ikkaku up to his charms.

Ikkaku wasn't going to fall for it. He had serious things he wanted to talk to Yumichika about, but this was not the time or the place. He wanted only to relax in peace at the moment.

"So, you're still third seat," Yumichika said cheerfully.

"Of course."

"And now we have a new fourth seat," Yumichika went on.

"Yeah."

Yumichika had known this would be difficult, but he was up to the challenge.

"I saw you talking to the new officer on the way back earlier today."

Ikkaku grunted.

"What were you talking about?" Yumichika asked, drawing closer.

Ikkaku thought about being evasive, but he decided on the truth. "I asked him to teach me how to communicate with my zanpakuto."

Yumichika was stunned. "You asked _him_?"

"You saw how he had perfect control over his shikai," Ikkaku said. "And he told me he has a great relationship with his zanpakuto. And he can fight. He can fight, he can drink. He's fun to be around."

"How do you know he can drink?" Yumichika asked.

"Cause I was drinking with him the other night."

"You were?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Well, that's good you found someone to teach you," Yumichika managed. "Are you—are you sure he's a good choice? I mean, you can't know him very well—"

"Not as well as you know Mendalo." Ikkaku let the words drop.

Yumichika tried to hide the smile forming on his lips. There was that jealousy again. "What has Mendalo got to do with this?"

"Nothing."

"Then why did you bring him up?"

"Just . . . popped into my head."

"Are you jealous, Ikkaku?" Yumichika teased.

Ikkaku scowled. "Why would I be jealous?"

"You're acting jealous—"

Ikkaku was not in the mood for playing around. He pierced Yumichika with a searing glare. "I'm not jealous. I'm angry, and this isn't a good time to talk about it."

"Angry . . . at me?"

"This isn't the time," Ikkaku repeated.

"Don't be angry," Yumichika cooed, placing a gentle hand on Ikkaku's arm.

In the next instant, Ikkaku felt a small sliver of Yumichika's reiatsu, and it infuriated him. He stood up abruptly, threw the glass into the fireplace, and took Yumichika roughly by the arms. "Turn it off – now!" he demanded. "This isn't a joke." He led him towards the door. "Just go back to your own room."

Yumichika clamped down on his reiatsu. "I'm sorry," he apologized, sounding truly contrite. "I didn't mean it as a joke. I was just—I thought you were jealous, and I didn't want you to be."

"I'm not jealous," Ikkaku replied.

"But why are you angry?" Yumichika insisted.

Ikkaku stared at him in disbelief. "You really don't know why I'd be angry?" Seeing Yumichika's blank expression, he shook his head. "What's happening to you?"

A small flair of indignation glowed in Yumichika's eyes. "To me? What do you mean? Nothing's happening to me."

Ikkaku didn't know what to say. He knew what he _wanted_ to say, but he wasn't ready to speak the words – especially in his present frame of mind.

"Look . . . " he began, taking a deep breath. "If I say anything right now, it's not going to come out right, so . . . just go back to your room, and we'll talk about it later."

"Ikkaku—"

"Yumichika, don't push me. Now isn't the time."

Reluctantly, Yumichika stepped outside the door. "Whatever it is, I'm sorry," he apologized.

But Ikkaku wasn't interested in apologies.

Words were of little value, especially given that Ikkaku did not believe it when Yumichika pretended not to know what it was that was upsetting him so much. And if Yumichika knew what he was doing wrong, then he knew what actions he needed to take to correct it.

Ikkaku slid the door closed and returned to his place by the fire.

He looked for his glass of sake, then remembered he had thrown it into the fire.

Fine. He could drink straight from the flask.


	10. Chapter 10 (Graphic Sexual Content)

_**Dear Reader, I must give you fair warning that this chapter contains extremely graphic sexual content. Nothing violent - just a painstakingly lurid description of sexual activity. This is usually not my style, but it was what came to me one afternoon as the snow was falling outside my house; and so, here it is. Now, just a reminder . . . these are Souls, so they can endure much greater, emmm, exertion, than we mere mortals can! So, if there are some things that seem . . . well, extreme, just remember that in Bleach, characters who get cut in half, impaled by human fists, and disintegrate into thin air are able to make come-backs! I'm not that extreme, but it does get a little wild! Enjoy! Peace, The Kujaku**_

* * *

Chapter 10 The Dragon Meets His Master. Peacock in the Snow.

"_Every time I hear the sound of the rain  
__beating on my roof again,  
__I want to taste your love,  
__and I want to go deep."_

_Deep  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

"The first thing to remember is that a zanpakuto is born of your soul. Its entire existence depends on you, but it's not just some extension of your own soul. It has its own personality, its own voice, its own strength. And its own weaknesses."

Iba Tetsuzaemon sat cross-legged on the floor inside one of Squad Eleven's smaller training rooms. Ikkaku sat across from him, listening intently but impatient for action.

"But my sword existed long before it became mine," Ikkaku pointed out. "It was handed down to me. I didn't create it."

"I didn't say you _created_ it," Iba countered, adding cryptically, "The power to create doesn't belong to us; but that doesn't mean you can't be the one to wield something you didn't create. The soul is eternal. Your zanpakuto may have been created from your soul before you were aware even of _your own_ existence." A pause. "You may not have even been the one to awaken your zanpakuto. But it looks like you're its ultimate end – its master."

"Sound like a bunch of bullshit to me," Ikkaku smirked.

Iba ignored him. "Since the zanpakuto comes from its master's soul, it has a lot of its master's traits. The key is to recognize those traits in yourself and master them—in yourself. Then you can master them in your zanpakuto." He was very serious. "And believe me, you want to master your zanpakuto, because if that power is left unchecked, it can wreak all sorts of havoc."

Ikkaku grinned. "Are you speaking from experience?"

"Damn right I am, but we're not going to go into that right now," Iba replied, sticking to the task at hand. "You see, zanpakuto don't want to be mastered. They want to be equal to or greater than their wielders, and it takes a long time to break them of their . . . delusions of superiority. To do that, you have to learn your zanpakuto's name. Then you'll be able to develop the trust and obedience that's needed to grow stronger together." He paused. "So, before we begin: have you never heard anything of your zanpakuto's voice? Not a whisper? Not even in sleep?"

"I heard his voice, but I didn't think it was him," Ikkaku replied. He shook his head in self-recrimination. "I thought it was my conscience. He even told me he was a zanpakuto, but I just thought I was hearing my own thoughts, that I was jealous because Yumichika had a zanpakuto and I didn't."

"What did he say to you?"

"He, uh, he insulted me a lot," Ikkaku said with a cheeky smile. "But I guess I deserved most of it." A pause. "He was pissed off at some of the decisions I had made."

Iba nodded once. "Did you get a sense that he was powerful?"

"I didn't really pay attention," Ikkaku answered. "Remember, I thought I was just talking to myself."

"Well, _I_ can tell he's powerful," Iba said. "I can sense brute strength in your reiatsu. That's probably your zanpakuto's power pushing through." He stared hard from behind the dark glasses. "He's not going to go down without a fight."

Now, Ikkaku was bursting at the seams. "I like a good fight. Let's get to it."

"The proper manner of communicating with a zanpakuto is called jinzen—"

"I know that—"

"Don't interrupt me." Iba went on without hesitation. "It involves quieting your mind and entering into your inner world – your zanpakuto's world. If you do it properly, you will enter through the center of your zanpakuto's power. He won't like this, but you can't let that dissuade you. Once you're there, wait until he comes to you. Don't go searching him out. Make him come to you. From that point . . . imagine you're dealing with yourself."

"But how do I enter? How do I quiet my mind?"

"Hold your sword across your lap, like this. Close your eyes and empty your mind. Don't let any thoughts get inside. Your zanpakuto has already spoken to you, so chances are he'll come again – especially if he senses that you're trying to reach him. He may try and lead you to enter somewhere other than the center of his power. Don't let him. Go wherever your instinct leads you."

Ikkaku drew in a deep breath. It all sounded so . . . imprecise and haphazard. But he would give it a try.

He positioned his sword and closed his eyes. Clearing his mind was something else altogether. No matter how hard he tried, random thoughts kept popping up. No sooner did he banish one thought than another came to take its place. It seemed as if hours had passed during which he grew weary from the attempt to still his mind; and then, just like that, he felt a serenity settle into his limbs, a heavy warmth that felt very much like sleep, except that he was not tired.

He opened his eyes and breathed deep in wonder.

He was in a cave of monstrous proportions, illuminated by an orange light emanating from walls oozing with lava flows that disappeared beneath the cave floor, a plateau of jagged rock, at the foot of which ran a red river.

The heat was searing, yet somehow comfortable. The air felt close and thick, diffused with a sense of masculine brawn that Ikkaku found very agreeable. Looking around, he was alone. Not a sign of life anywhere. He began walking, taking in a full view and eventually coming to a long tunnel on a slight downward slope. He was about to start down the tunnel when he heard a sound behind him.

Turning, his jaw dropped.

In front of him stood a creature the likes of which he had never seen – or even imagined. The being was bipedal, at least ten feet tall, yet with otherwise human proportions. The face was animalistic but with human expression – a broad, anticipatory grin at the moment. The body was strong and muscular, covered with thick reddish-brown fur, the only piece of clothing, a white loin cloth.

"So, you finally made it."

Ikkaku was surprised to hear the creature's voice – deep and throaty – human. It was a voice he had heard before. The same voice he had always imagined was his own conscience.

"It's about damned time," the creature went on. "I was starting to think you were too stupid to figure it out."

"Stupid or not, I'm here now," Ikkaku replied evenly, perhaps a hint of challenge in his voice. "You weren't smart enough to keep me out, so I guess that makes you pretty stupid, too."

"Who says I wanted to keep you out? I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"Waiting for what?" Ikkaku asked.

"For you to come in here, partner," the being replied with a toothy grin. "I've been ready to start training ever since I came into existence and especially once I found my way into your hands. I had a lot of other owners before I finally ended up where I belonged. And now, I'm tired of waiting. I'm ready to get started."

Ikkaku liked the sound of this. "I'm ready when you are," he said, adding, "I, uh, I don't suppose you want to tell me your name."

The being's tiny eyes narrowed even further. "You have to earn that information." He drew his sword.

Now, it was Ikkaku's turn to smile. "Gladly," he replied, unsheathing his own sword. "Let's go!"

* * *

"I love the feel of your hands on my body," Yumichika exhaled, the afterglow of bliss so entrancing it almost took his breath away.

"Well, I love the way your body feels," Mendalo returned, gently stoking his fingers over Yumichika's arm as the latter lay nestled against his shoulder.

After several seconds, Yumichika spoke again. "It's been a long time since I've felt this happy."

"I'm glad I can make you happy," Mendalo replied. "But it bothers me to hear you say that. Have you been unhappy?"

Yumichika considered. The truth was that he hadn't planned to spend that evening with Mendalo. After the recent contention with Ikkaku, he had felt that he needed to spend time with Ikkaku, discuss what was happening between them. But Ikkaku had not returned to the officers' quarters after work. Yumichika was certain that he'd gone out drinking, and that would ruin any chance of talking to him rationally.

But the difficulty was that he was not dealing with Ikkaku's jealousy alone. He was also facing the outrage over what he had done that morning during the contest for third and fourth seat. It had been a foolish and dangerous thing to do. If anyone had been able to trace the burst of seductive reiatsu back to him, that would have spelled a quick end to his tenure as a member of Squad Eleven.

He wasn't even sure why he'd done it. Yes, it would have been humiliating for Ikkaku to be bumped down to fourth seat, but he still would have been serving under Zaraki. The chance to regain his seat at a later date would still be there. Then there had been Ikkaku's provocation, his downright rude behavior in trying to force Yumichika to fight Iba for a position that Yumichika didn't even want.

But perhaps more than anything else, his pride had played a part. He could have let things play out and been none the worse for it. Instead, he had used his reiatsu, knowing that only one person in that entire room would know immediately and definitively from whom it had emanated. He'd done it to remind Ikkaku of his power, to demonstrate that the next time Ikkaku wanted to put him on the spot and try to teach him a lesson, he'd better not forget that Yumichika had powers that were difficult to counter.

Of course, he regretted it now. The use of his reiatsu had backfired on him, and now he found himself, instead of waiting for Ikkaku's return, seeking solace in Mendalo's bed.

At last, he replied, "It's not really that I'm unhappy. It's just that . . . I miss Venla and the life I had there. I miss the way things used to be between me and Ikkaku."

"How did things used to be?"

"He used to be . . . a lot less angry than he is now," Yumichika replied. "We didn't argue as much. It was . . . like living in a perfect world for eighteen years."

"And then?" Mendalo prompted.

"Huh. Then the serpent showed up," Yumichika sighed, "Just like in the story from the living world . . . the first man and woman were tricked by the serpent and cast out of paradise. That's how it seemed . . . "

"Who was the serpent?"

Yumichika hesitated. "I can't tell you. That's between me and Ikkaku." He frowned. "But it was our own stupidity that cost us everything we had gained."

Mendalo looked down to see the furrowed brow and distant eyes. The subject was obviously a painful one for Yumichika, and yet Yumichika was the one who had brought it up.

"Eventually, that stupidity drove us both out of Venla, and things have never been the same since," Yumichika went on. "And once he met Zaraki . . . that changed his entire world."

"How _did_ he meet Zaraki?" Mendalo asked.

"They met in a small, very poor village out in what I think must have been 80 east, though I'm not sure. Ikkaku challenged him to a fight—yes, I know that was stupid—anyway, he challenged him and he lost. But even after that, he still wanted to find him. He told me it was so he could fight him again and kill him. I thought that was ridiculous, but I went out to find Zaraki anyway—"

"Wait a minute, you knew Ikkaku would probably end up getting killed, but you went to find Zaraki anyway?" Mendalo asked, sounding perplexed.

"I had no choice," Yumichika replied. "Ikkaku would have left me behind if I hadn't done it—"

"Left you behind? Because you wouldn't help him find a guy who would probably end up killing him?" Now, a tinge of anger colored Mendalo's tone.

"There's a lot more to it that I'm leaving out, because it's just too . . . it's too hard to explain; but yes, he would have left me behind if I hadn't agreed to help him. And I wasn't willing to lose him," Yumichika explained hastily. "Anyway, after I met you, I went back and told Ikkaku about Zaraki joining the Gotei 13, and we set out. I thought he was still intent on fighting Zaraki again, but then he told me he wanted to join the Gotei 13 instead. He wanted to serve under Zaraki." He paused. "I wanted to be with him, so I knew that any chance of returning to Venla was gone at that point. Once we became Shinigami, that marked the end of any chance of going back to our previous life."

"So, the only reason you became a Shinigami was to stay with him," Mendalo concluded.

"Yes," Yumichika replied.

Mendalo was quiet for several seconds, prompting Yumichika to speak again.

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

"I don't know if you made a mistake or not," the sword smith replied, "But it seems you were meant to be a Shinigami one way or another."

"Why do you say that?" Yumichika asked, surprised.

"Only Shinigami have zanpakuto," Mendalo explained. "You had your zanpakuto way before you ever became a Shinigami, but here you are."

"Fuji Kujaku didn't want me to become a Shinigami, though," Yumichika pointed out. "He wanted to go back to Venla."

"And still, here you are," Mendalo persisted. "You see, it doesn't matter what you or Fuji Kujaku wants; the fate of a zanpakuto is to be wielded by a Shinigami. I will admit, it's strange that you were in contact with your zanpakuto before you became a Shinigami, but the bottom line is you became a Shinigami. You can't avoid fate."

Yumichika considered. "I just hate to think that I'm fated to this kind of life. There's nothing beautiful about Squad Eleven. There's nothing beautiful about the way they look or speak or fight—"

"Are you that miserable?" Mendalo queried. "I don't get the sense that you're quite as disgusted with them as you say you are."

"Of course, I'm disgusted, but it won't do any good to brood over it," Yumichika replied. "I have to accept it and try to fit in. It may not be what I'd like, but it's what I choose to do. I have to stay with Ikkaku." He pushed up onto one elbow. "He's very angry at me right now."

"Oh?"

"I did something at the squad this morning that . . . he got very angry."

"What happened?" Mendalo asked, rolling onto his side to face Yumichika.

"We have a new officer, and that officer wanted to challenge for the fourth seat. Captain Zaraki made him fight Ikkaku to see who would be third and who would be fourth. Ikkaku was about to lose, and I didn't want that to happen, so I . . . I used a little bit of my reiatsu to throw off his opponent. It worked, but Ikkaku was furious at me afterwards," Yumichika explained.

"He had a right to be," Mendalo defended Ikkaku in his absence.

"Why?" Yumichika asked with raised brow. "It wasn't a fair matchup to begin with, because Iba had shikai—"

"Iba? Tetsuzaemon? Is that who Madarame fought?"

"Yes. And he was about to win—"

"Iba is a good warrior. Even more than that, he's a good man. If he'd beaten Madarame fair and square, he would have deserved third seat," Mendalo pointed out. "You're the one who made it unfair by using your power to influence the outcome."

"Well, I did what I thought was necessary," Yumichika replied dismissively. "Either way, Ikkaku was angry that I used my reiatsu."

"And like I said, he had a right to be angry," Mendalo repeated.

"Okay." Yumichika was flippant. "On top of that, he's jealous."

"Of?"

"Of all the time you and I are spending together. He won't admit it, but I know he is," Yumichika stated.

"Am I taking away time you used to spend with him?" Mendalo asked.

"A little, maybe," Yumichika replied. "But it's not like we were doing anything . . . just sitting around."

"Maybe you should try sitting around with him a little more," Mendalo suggested. "After all, we _have _been together the past five nights."

Yumichika put his hand on the outer curve on Mendalo's thigh and caressed up along its length to his hip. "And every one of those nights has been . . . I feel . . . I feel wanted again. I feel beautiful again. I don't want to lose that."

"Sex isn't a drug, Yumichika," Mendalo grinned.

"It's not the sex," Yumichika countered. "I just want to feel . . . like I mean something to someone."

Mendalo nodded slowly. He put his hand behind Yumichika's head and drew him into a kiss, then as their lips parted, he whispered, "You would still mean something to me even without the sex."

It was the truth.

* * *

Interesting. Yes, this was very interesting, indeed.

The dozen or so swords that had not been blown to bits in the explosion still had appropriate levels of reiatsu. It appeared that only the damaged swords had lost their potency. That meant that something in the breaking of the metal had loosened the spirit energy of the zanpakuto and someone or something had been waiting to gather it up and whisk it away.

The reiatsu trail of the perpetrator had not contained any elements of zanpakuto energy; therefore, however the energy was removed and transported, it had not leaked out and left a trail of its own.

And the perpeptrator's trail ended in Seventy West. So, either the villain had the means to cover his own reiatsu or the reiatsu had simply faded by the time the incompetent idiots of Squad Two had reached the end of the trail, leaving Squad Ten and then Eleven to try and pick it up again.

Either way, it was not a matter of importance. What was more meaningful was that somewhere out in Soul Society there was a concentration of Asauchi spirit energy. The combined energy of over 400 hundred swords should be fairly intense, despite the weakness of each individual weapon. And such an energy should be readily detectable. Only, it wasn't.

Captain Kurotsuchi left the shambles of the destroyed forge and walked the short distance to the temporary forge. Here, two of the transient sword smiths were working alongside one of the Gotei 13's permanent sword makers.

Mayuri approached the latter. "Heykibi, come across the street with me. I have some questions pertaining to the investigation."

Heykibi, a stout, no-nonsense man with a horse-shoe ring of black hair around a red, shiny dome of sweat-dappled baldness, regarded the Squad Twelve captain with little interest. He was one of a very few who was not intimidated by the captain's reputation for cruelty.

"I'm busy," he grunted, rolling his cotton sleeves up even further to reveal the strong arms of a man who made his living at labor.

"It will only take a minute," Kurotsuchi persisted, employing his best effort at politeness.

Heykibi straightened up, threw off his work gloves, and turned to the two other smithies. "I won't be long." With that, he led the way out of the building to the ruins of the old forge. He stopped on the threshold. "What are your questions?"

Mayuri was still in polite mode. "These zanpakuto weren't destroyed in the explosion," he began. "Their reiatsu is still intact."

"Yes. So?"

"But the ones that were broken. They lost their reiatsu," Mayuri went on. "I know a broken zanpakuto can lose some of its reiatsu, but these ones lost all of theirs. I wonder why that is?"

Heykibi shrugged. "They may not have had much to begin with. The explosion may have been so violent that it dispersed a lot of reiatsu. Look, it blew a lot of zanpakuto into millions of pieces of shrapnel."

"But it wasn't strong enough to damage the adjacent buildings, so I think it couldn't have been that violent an explosion," Mayuri observed. "And look at the blast mark . . . the investigators noticed this earlier, but I'm only now curious about it. The crater radiates out from this spot on the floor. The debris pattern is almost perfectly circular, taking into account the presence of walls and such. Yet, all the zanpakuto over on the far wall are only minimally damaged, probably by taking hits from the destroyed zanpakuto."

"So?"

"It looks to me as if the bomber didn't toss in a grenade or something in order to just cause damage. If that were the case, we'd have a very different debris pattern based on where the zanpakuto were lying when the explosion took place. Instead, we have a uniform circular pattern. Whoever did this piled the zanpakuto together and then detonated the explosive. The purpose of the explosion wasn't to disable the forge; it was to destroy zanpakuto." Kurotsuchi walked over to the furnace itself. "You see, nothing over here is damaged. The molds, the furnace, the anvils, the tools . . . all of this is still intact. Maybe a little pitted and scarred, but still usable."

"We can't use them," Heykibi stated. "We've been told not to touch anything at the scene until the investigation is completed."

"That's not my point. My point is that this whole side of the room – and these completed zanpakuto over on this rack . . . none of this was touched. The bomber's aim was not to destroy the forge but to destroy the zanpakuto. Apparently, he didn't have time to get all the swords on the pile before he had to use the explosive." A pause. "And that's where I need some answer from you. If a zanpakuto is broken and reforged, can it regain the reiatsu it lost?"

"To a certain degree," Heykibi replied. "It depends on the zanpakuto and the amount of reiatsu lost."

"Let's use these Asauchi as the example. Can this level of destruction still permit for the replenishment of lost reiatsu?"

"These zanpakuto cannot be reforged," Heykibi said. "All that can be done is to melt down the pieces and create new ones. So, the question of restoring their reiatsu doesn't even come into play."

"You swordsmiths know how to imbue spirit energy into these weapons when they are nothing but hunks of metal. It's part of your art," Mayuri said. "Where do you get the spirit energy that you use to infuse into the zanpakuto?"

"I couldn't tell you where it comes from," Heykibi replied. "There are incantations that we use to bring it forth, but it doesn't always work."

"So, you have no means by which to collect reiatsu in order to use it in the creation of a zanpakuto," Mayuri suggested.

"A way to collect reiatsu? I don't know if such a thing exists at all," came the doubtful answer.

"Where do you think all the spirit energy from these destroyed zanpakuto went?" Mayuri asked.

Heykibi shrugged. "I imagine it just got dispersed on the air."

"Do you have a record of each zanpakuto made here?"

"Of course. They're kept in the office behind the water vats."

Mayuri looked at the water vats, still perfectly intact. That meant the office was probably undamaged, as well. "Bring them to me."

"They're huge books—"

"I only want the books that contain the most recent zanpakutos, the ones destroyed in the explosion."

Heykibi scowled but did as he was told. "I don't know what you expect to find. These are just production records."

"Maybe I won't find anything." Mayuri grinned – an altogether sinister thing. "Maybe I will."

* * *

Ikkaku leaped forward with a shout of excitement. His opponent engaged him with equal enthusiasm.

They had been battling each other for . . . he wasn't even sure how many hours had passed. Time seemed to have no meaning in this world. The only thing that mattered here was the fight, and his opponent was certainly more than capable of bringing it to him.

They'd moved beyond the cave, emerging into a deep, lush jungle, and here the combat continued.

"You're not bad, partner," the being stated. "You're nowhere near what you could be, but you're not bad."

"Neither are you," Ikkaku replied.

Hoozukimaru lowered his sword. "Ahhh, we can grow stronger together," he said with anticipation.

"I have to know your name first," Ikkaku said.

"I'll tell you what. The first time you defeat me, I'll tell you," came the reply "So, it's all up to you."

"No problem," Ikkaku said dismissively.

"Says you," Hoozukimaru shot back, raising his weapon and lunging forward.

Ikkaku parried and jumped aside. "You like to fight dirty," he sneered.

"Huh, I'm a reflection of _your_ soul," Hoozukimaru laughed.

Ikkaku grinned maniacally. "Perfect!"

They engaged again, their battle carrying them further into the jungle, up steep inclines and into deep valleys, across streams and along cliff edges. They fought in parity the whole way, both of them lost in the thrill of combat.

Hoozukimaru taunted Ikkaku every step of the way, and Ikkaku responded in like kind. But then the zanpakuto spirit said something that caught Ikkaku off-guard.

"Why didn't you listen to me all those other times?"

"What other times?" Ikkaku asked.

"You know that was my voice." Hoozukimaru lowered his weapon.

"I didn't know what it was—"

"I told you I was your zanpakuto. You didn't believe me. You were so jealous of little pretty that you refused to believe your own senses," the dragon chided.

"Little pretty?"

"Ayasegawa."

"Yumichika? How—how do you know about Yumichika?"

"If you see it or hear it, so do I," Hoozukimaru replied.

Ikkaku was perplexed. "How is that possible?"

"How would I know? I just know what I can do," came the reply. "I don't give much thought to how or why."

Ikkaku nodded appreciatively. "My way of thinking exactly." A pause. "So, what do you know about Yumichika?"

"I know that unless you get serious about training, you're never going to surpass him," Hoozukimaru stated. "And I know you're jealous of him, even though you shouldn't be. It's your own fault you haven't progressed as far as he has."

"What do you mean, I haven't progressed as far as he has?!" Ikkaku accused. "I'm stronger than he is, better with a sword, better at—"

"You're nowhere near as far along as he is with relation to your zanpakuto," the dragon interjected. "He's known his weapon for years. They've grown together for years. You're only beginning. But if you want to overtake him—"

"The only one whose skill I want to match is Kenpachi Zaraki," Ikkaku said emphatically. "As for Yumichika—"

"As for Yumichika, you know he'll always defer to you, and maybe that's the way you like it, but you being a guy who goes around touting his own strength, you know that he can defeat you any time he wants – and easily." Hoozukimaru saw the look on his master's face. "I know what his powers are. Believe me, his zanpakuto is just as seductive as he is."

"You know Fuji Kujaku?"

The false name raised the dragon's hackles, but he would not contradict it. That was a matter better left to Ruri'iro Kujaku and his master.

"I know him," Hoozukimaru replied. "And he's a lot more powerful than you realize. But that doesn't change things with you and me. You need to get stronger, partner. A lot stronger. I don't mind if little pretty can take you – he's got unconventional methods, but I'll be damned if the rest of these . . . weaklings are going to surpass my master. But you're going to have to show me a lot more than what I'm seeing now."

As a rallying call, it was effective. Ikkaku nodded resolutely. "Make it worth my while, and I'll show you what I've got."

* * *

"It's snowing again!"

Despite Yumichika's excited proclamation, Mendalo was not as sanguine.

"You really want to walk home in this? Look, it's almost two o'clock in the morning, it's snowing . . . why not just stay here?"

"Because I need to be there in the morning, so Ikkaku will see that I didn't stay out all night again," Yumichika replied. "Besides, I love the snow!"

"Do you think it makes a difference if you're there in the morning when you only got home at two?" Mendalo pressed.

"Yes!" Yumichika smiled. "To Ikkaku, it will make a difference."

Mendalo heaved a sigh of concession. "Okay, then I'll walk with you – unless you're going to use flashstep."

"In this? No, I want to enjoy every step," Yumichika replied. "How can you be so dull? Look at how beautiful it is."

"You're crazy."

Mendalo dressed and they stepped out together. Despite the snow falling, the air didn't feel so cold, and after twenty minutes of walking, they had built up enough body heat that the night felt pleasant.

"I wish you could see Venla and how magical the mountains looked in the snow," Yumichika said wistfully as they entered the squad eleven area. "By February, the trees were covered with ice. They looked like crystal. All the mountain streams were frozen solid, even the cascades. It was peaceful and quiet and . . .

"It sounds cold," Mendalo quipped. "It's all nice as long as you have a warm fire to escape to."

"You know, in all the years I lived in Venla, all the winters on the mountain, there was something I never got to do," Yumichika said.

"What was that?" Mendalo asked.

Off to their right just inside the squad eleven main gate was an ornamental garden, at least twelve inches deep in undisturbed snow. The garden was bound on the east side by the outer wooden wall of the squad perimeter; on the north and south walls by administrative offices, and on the west side by a wide path that led from the main gate through the interior courtyard, splitting it in half, on the far western end of which was the main training hall.

Yumichika took hold of Mendalo's hand and plunged forward into the snow. He forded his way across the waves of snow, humming some unrecognizable tune as he went.

"What are you doing?" Mendalo laughed, slogging along behind him.

When he was at least twenty yards off the pathway, Yumichika stopped. Releasing Mendalo's hand, he turned to face him. "I've never made love in the snow."

For a moment, Mendalo was speechless. But when he found his voice, he didn't know whether he was thrilled or mortified. "In the snow? We'll freeze to death."

"No."

"Someone might see us. We're right here in the middle of the squad area," Mendalo deferred.

"It's late. It's snowing. No one's out," Yumichika said, bracing himself against a tree as he removed his heavy winter moccasins. He cast off his hanten and undid his obi, letting it slither through his fingers where it was lost in the snow. He shrugged off the black kosode and white shitagi, which fell to the ground around his feet. And then slowly and deliberately, without ever taking his eyes from Mendalo's, he loosened the ties on his hakama and let it drop. The fundoshi was last, and he stood completely naked in the snow.

The snow flakes melted against the warmth of his body, turning into droplets of water which drew glistening lines as they ran down the porcelain skin.

"You're not going to let a little snow stop you, are you?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

Mendalo came closer, but when he reached out, Yumichika leaned away, falling purposefully onto his back in the snow, the sound of his laughter like a siren's song, erotic and irresistible.

Mendalo forgot about the cold, stripped off his clothes in seconds, and dropped down on top of him. The contrasting feeling of the warm body and the cold snow made him tingle from head to foot. But even more rapturous was the intensity of Yumichika's passion. Clearly, this _was_ something he had long desired, and he was set on getting every bit of enjoyment out of the experience.

Lying deep in the snow, the cold made Yumichika shiver, but this only added to both men's anticipation and lent to the moment a hint of desperation. Mendalo drew one of Yumichika's legs up over his shoulder and tilted his pelvis up. It was the position they both preferred, for it not only allowed them to maintain eye contact but the pressure of such a tight fit had the effect of rushing both men to the brink and delivering the most powerful release.

Mendalo slid inside his lover with strength and rapid zeal.

Beneath him, Yumichika put a hand out. "Slowly. . . go slowly."

Mendalo wondered if Yumichika had any idea just how hard it was to fulfill that request. Between them, Yumichika's own erection was full and hard, twitching with each spasm of pleasure. Mendalo, in a moment of playful mischief, grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it into Yumichika's privates – which, at the moment, were not private at all. "You need to slow down, too!"

The shock jerked Yumichika upright, but Mendalo had anticipated this and held him at arm's length. "You'll break me in half if you do that!" he warned with humor in his voice.

"You—you bastard!" Yumichika accused through his own laughter. "You want me to get frostbite?"

"You won't get frostbite," Mendalo assured him, wrapping his finger around the offended flesh and kneading gently. "Just lie back . . . and enjoy yourself."

Yumichika relaxed. He stretched his arms above his head in a calculated pose of defenselessness. He closed his eyes and indulged the feeling of increasing tension as Mendalo continued to massage his erection while moving with slow clock-work precision in and out, agonizingly hitting every sensitive spot with just the right intensity to prolong the love-making to the point where Yumichika felt as if every muscle in his body had turned to liquid.

Mendalo, despite his initial reluctance at the idea of having a romp in the snow, now found himself in the middle of the most erotic experience he had ever known. Watching the expressions that crossed Yumichika's face, hearing his gasps and groans of increasing pleasure, seeing and feeling him writhe and twist – almost as if to escape the arousal being visited upon him – Mendalo did not want this encounter to end.

He withdrew fully, bringing a choked cry from Yumichika's lips, quickly muffled as he lay down on top of him and covered his mouth with his own.

"W-why did you s-stop?" Yumichika stammered between devouring kisses.

Mendalo whispered in his ear, "Do you trust me?"

It was a strange question to ask after how they'd been spending the last five days.

"Well . . . yes."

Mendalo sat up. "No, I mean . . . do you trust me?" He held up one hand, and in it was Yumichika's discarded obi.

Now, Yumichika understood.

"I remember, the first time we met, it terrified you," Mendalo said. "I don't want that to happen again."

Yumichika did not have to consider for long. He did trust Mendalo, and the truth was that he wanted to see if he had overcome all the terrible shadows of the past. It might even be something he could enjoy if done with the right person.

"You only want to tie me up, right?" he asked.

"I won't hurt you."

"You'd better not," Yumichika grinned. "Remember, I'm a Shinigami now. That little piece of cloth won't be enough to hold me if you get out of line . . . "

"I won't get out of line," Mendalo said, kissing him tenderly.

Yumichika looked him in the eye, holding the gaze for longer than usual. He nodded and spoke with quiet certitude. "I trust you."

Mendalo got to his feet and pulled Yumichika up with him. He trounced through the snow less than fifteen feet to where a birch tree stood. He turned Yumichika's back to him and sat down with his own back against the tree. As he sat, he carefully guided Yumichika down, penetrating him as he did so. The depth of the insertion, made all the more intense by Yumichika's own weight bearing him down, almost brought Yumichika instantly to climax. He was ready, and he wanted it very badly. He put his hands on Mendalo's knees and attempted to push himself up, to create the motion on his own that would send him over the edge.

But behind him, Mendalo, put his hands on his shoulders and pressed him down. "Don't move," he whispered. He drew Yumichika's hands behind his back and bound them together with one end of the obi.

"But I—I'm r-ready," Yumichika gasped, followed by small moans of exertion wrought by teetering at the very brink. He was too lost in the sensations of his body to even notice his hands now secured behind him. Just two or three small movements would bring him.

"Stay still," Mendalo repeated. "We're going to make this last." With those words, he reached around with the obi in front of Yumichika and, operating by touch only, tied the remaining length of cloth tightly around the base of his penis.

This caught Yumichika's attention. "Wh-what are you d-doing?" he said, barely able to manage the words, his entire body now straining for release.

"This will keep you from coming," Mendalo replied, "At least for a little while." He pulled the knot tighter.

"But—but—"

"You let me know if it hurts." Mendalo placed one hand, fingers splayed, over Yumichika's throat, drawing his head back onto his shoulder. "You just enjoy the ride." With his other hand, he went to work on his lover's bound erection, running a finger back and forth over the tip, changing to a circular direction, and then gently massaging between thumb and forefinger.

Yumichika had never known such ecstasy. Or such agony. Every fiber of his being was poised, even yearning to be catapulted into the fullness of the arousal his body was undergoing. And yet, the constriction placed upon him was highly effective at preventing culmination. Mendalo's fingers on his throat, applying light but firm pressure, kept his gaze pointed at the sky, where all he could see was the continuing rain of snowflakes. He could not see any of the things being done to his body, and this left him focusing only on the intensity of touch.

And that, alone, was driving him closer and closer to losing control.

Each time he tried to generate movement against the fullness inside him, he was held in tantalizing place by the sword smith's strong hands.

"You'll hurt yourself if you try to come while that tie is on," Mendalo warned him. "Do as I said and try to relax. I'll know when it's time to take it off."

A spasm rippled through Yumichika's body. "Y-you're t-torturing m-me," he gasped, but his voice was filled with the floating tenor of one lost in rapture.

"Do you want me to stop?" he teased, already knowing the answer.

"No," Yumichika whispered.

"Good . . . cause we haven't even started yet."

* * *

Ikkaku opened his eyes.

Iba was sitting across from him.

"What—what? You're still here . . . " Ikkaku stammered. He felt as if he were awaking from a deep sleep.

"Still here," Iba replied. "It's been eight hours. That's a long time for a first meeting between a Shinigami and his zanpakuto."

Ikkaku shook his head as if to clear it.

"I take it you were successful making contact," Iba assumed.

Ikkaku nodded. "You can say that again."

"Were you able to control the interaction?" Iba asked.

"More or less," Ikkaku replied.

"And he was respectful of you?"

"More or less," Ikkaku repeated. "He's . .. not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" Iba queried, cocking his head to one side.

"Something . . . less animalistic."

This statement made Iba snigger lightly. "Animalistic? That sounds fitting for you."

"To be honest . . . he _was_ fitting. Even though he isn't what I imagined, he was even better," Ikkaku said. "We battled almost the entire time, and we were evenly matched. But he finally defeated me and kicked me out." A smile crossed his face. "I can't wait for the chance to go against him again."

"It sounds like you're off to a good start. And to be able to enter on your first try – that's impressive."

Ikkaku nodded once. "And I have you to thank for that." He got to his feet.

Iba also rose. "I should probably be present for your next attempt, as well."

"How does tomorrow sound? Same time."

"Sounds good," Iba acknowledged.

"Heading back?" Ikkaku asked, walking towards the door.

"Yep," Iba answered, pulling on his hanten.

Opening the door, Ikkaku made a hooting sound. "It's snowing again."

Iba joined him on the threshold. "Wow, it's really coming down." He looked at Ikkaku. "You're going to freeze."

"Ha! The cold doesn't bother me," Ikkaku replied, although this was a lie.

"Maybe you already have ice in your veins," Iba stated with a wry inflection.

"Definitely."

They began walking.

* * *

Mendalo remained inside Yumichika as he rolled his lover into the snow. He knelt behind him, gripping Yumichika's hips and drawing his pelvis up to maintain the deep insertion. Yumichika, hands and penis still bound, lay face-down in the snow like an unstrung puppet, gasping and moaning.

"P-please . . . please . . . f-finish me," he begged, his voice thin and quaking. "I can't t-take anymore."

But instead of speeding his motion, Mendalo began to withdraw – slowly, by pushing Yumichika's hips forward until he was completely clear. "I think you can take a lot more," he countered in a husky voice. "I think this kind of game is what you're made for." With that, he pulled Yumichika towards him again, gradually pushing inside once more, only an inch or two deep; then pushing him away again, just as gradually. He continued to repeat this movement, stoking his own already pounding erection.

Beneath him, Yumichika could no longer move. His muscles had turned to mud. The strength of the sensations being wrought upon his body was such that it was overtaking his self-control, burying his sense of reason in the ravages of passion. He hardly knew where he was anymore; he was only aware that his body was being carefully manipulated in the most rapturous manner, and that he was at the mercy of a man who actually knew better than he did, how to coax a body to the highest levels of pleasure.

"Do you like that? Do you want more?" Mendalo whispered, his voice falling somewhere between a taunt and a threat, and it had the effect of further increasing Yumichika's arousal.

"Y-yes," Yumichika replied, a shudder rattling his entire body. "F-faster . . . please, g-go faster. And—and d-deeper."

"Like this?" Mendalo quickened the movement, but only slightly.

"Deeper . . . faster," Yumichika pleaded.

"Oh, it's not time yet. It's too soon," Mendalo whispered. "I need to slow you down." With that, he pulled out completely again as Yumichika cried out in protest.

Mendalo grinned. "No, no. No complaints." He turned Yumichika onto his back and straddled his shoulders.

"Open your mouth."

Yumichika did as commanded, and in the next moment, he felt silky flesh against his tongue, then his entire mouth was filled with the warmth and fullness of his lover's manhood. He relished the feel and taste of Mendalo's most coveted prize, and he worked vigorously to indulge every inch of the iron-hard flesh. With his hands bound, he was nothing more than a receptacle; yet, even so, he knew how to use his mouth to reduce a man's will to tatters in a matter of seconds. Mendalo was no exception. No matter how deeply the sword smith delved, Yumichika was able to take him.

For Yumichika, being forced to perform orally on Mendalo, a man for whom he had warm and passionate feelings, was scintillating. The mirage of his own helplessness was strangely exciting. He had never imagined, after what had befallen him in Mito, that he would ever take joy in being bound and helpless. But this night was proving that he had moved beyond the fear. He trusted Mendalo. And it was also the case that he was not truly rendered powerless. His strength had grown such that he could snap the bonds around his wrists in an instant. But he liked feeling as if he were at the mercy of his lover; and he knew Mendalo would do everything in his power to heighten the experience.

Mendalo watched Yumichika's display of oral prowess, and it occurred to him that he wasn't just looking at another sex partner. The quality that made this encounter so much greater than those he had known previously was that his feelings for Yumichika were not simply those of utility or sexual satisfaction. In a few days, he had grown deeply fond of a man who was unlike any other man he had ever known – an odd combination of masculine and feminine characteristics; a gentle nature sharing the same body with a preening, egotistical peacock; a sultry, worldly male siren with the naiveté of a child.

And he wanted nothing more than to please this man in every way possible, including stretching this experience out as long as he could. He drew back as Yumichika craned his neck, straining after him, mouth agape, his breath rising in glistening crystals.

Yumichika opened his eyes to see Mendalo getting to his feet.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Mendalo walked quickly over to where the rest of their clothes were lying in the snow. He came back quickly with his own obi.

"Were you afraid I'd leave you teetering on the edge?" he teased, dropping down and rolling Yumichika onto his side.

"I was . . . I was enjoying the f-feel of you in my mouth," Yumichika breathed.

Mendalo grinned. "So was I." He untied Yumichika's wrists.

"Why are you—why are you untying me?"

Now, Mendalo's grin broadened into a seductive smile of his own. "You liked it?"

Yumichika nodded.

"Well not to worry. It's not over yet," Mendalo assured him. Using his own obi, he bound Yumichika's wrists again, this time in front of him. Then, in a moment of wicked humor, he picked him up into his arms and headed for a snow drift that had built up at least four feet deep against the wall of a frozen fountain.

Knowing what he had planned, Yumichika resisted. "Don't you dare! Don't—don't even think about it!"

"You're the one who wanted to make love in the snow! You're the one who likes the cold!" Mendalo reminded him, then swinging him once, he called out, "One!" A second time. "Two!"

Yumichika flailed with his legs, eluding Mendalo's hold, before the count of three could be reached . But Mendalo was not about to give in. He forced Yumichika down on his front, then he took the end of the obi that was still bound around the base of his penis and used it to truss his ankles together, pulling it taut and effectively ending any struggle.

"You bastard!" Yumichika cried with laughter as Mendalo picked him up one more time.

The sword smith tossed him into the drift, where he disappeared from sight.

But even as he vanished, his voice did not. He could be heard laughing and cursing somewhere deep in the snow.

"Should I come in and get you?" Mendalo asked.

"You—you'd better!" Yumichika demanded, though it was not much of a threat. His muffled voice diminished any authority he might have been trying to assert.

"Hmmm . . . let's see," Mendalo hemmed. "What will you let me do to you if I rescue you?"

"What—what will I let you do?! You're already doing everything you want!" Yumichika cried.

"Now, that's true," Mendalo agreed. "Well then, I guess I should just go home."

"Don't you dare! Get me out of here!"

Mendalo shrugged to no one but himself. "Okay, if you say so. Here I come." He dove into the snow drift, finding himself surrounded in unseeing darkness. He began scrabbling through the snow almost as if he were swimming. "Say something so I can find you."

"You're doing this just to drive me crazy!" Yumichika scolded. "It's not that big a snow drift! Just get me out!" At that moment, a hand brushed against his side, and in the cold closeness of the drift, he was suddenly engulfed in the limbs of his lover, who was kissing him wildly, running his hands over every inch of goose-bumped flesh, sucking and teething the pricked nipples, parting the clenched buttocks to expose the raw, tender opening directly to the icy cold of the snow.

Yumichika was caught between laughing and crying. "S-stop it! You're p-playing g-games with m-me!"

"And what a lot of fun it is," Mendalo replied, sliding his hand between Yumichika's legs and fondling his sack.

Yumichika flinched.

"Don't try to get away," Mendalo warned. "One pull on this—" he tugged the obi, "—and you might end up really hurting yourself. Now, let me do as I please." He bent Yumichika's knees up, then parted them, pressing them down to the sides. He felt his way with his mouth down Yumichika's abdomen, coming to the coarse bed of pubic hair, which he tugged at with his teeth, bringing moans of painful delight from his lover. He bypassed the twitching penis and found the object of his search, soft, rounded, heavy in his mouth. And here he stayed, intent on savoring his unfettered access.

* * *

"What's that sound? Do you hear that?"

Iba had asked the question as he and Ikkaku walked down the path, rapidly growing deeper in snow, that split the courtyard of the main squad eleven administrative area.

No sooner had Iba spoken, then Ikkaku heard it, too.

Laughter.

And muffled voices.

_Oh shit . . . _

One voice Ikkaku recognized immediately, despite its indistinct words and its distance away.

"Someone's in the garden," Iba said, turning in the direction. "Look, there are footprints going off that way. They're practically filled with snow again, but—"

"Sounds like two people just having some fun," Ikkaku interjected, trying to get Iba moving again.

"But after what happened with the explosion, don't you think we ought to take a look?" Iba pressed.

"Not in this case," Ikkaku replied. "Listen, they're laughing and . . . well, let's just leave them alone."

"I think we need to check it out—" Iba was about to take a step into the deeper snow, but Ikkaku stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Look . . . I'll, uh, I'll check it out," he said. "I . . . I know one of those voices, and I don't want anyone to be embarrassed. You go on. I'll handle it."

"But—"

"Don't make me give you an order," Ikkaku frowned. "Believe me, it's not anything threatening. Just . . . stupid."

Iba sighed then nodded curtly. "But if you're not back in quarters in fifteen minutes, I'm coming to make sure everything's alright."

"Fair enough."

With that, Iba continued on his way.

And Ikkaku grimaced into the darkness before taking a step off the path and towards the garden.

* * *

Five minutes Mendalo had labored; and he had been rewarded with Yumichika's wrenching, writhing struggle for self-control, maintained only by the knotted obi. But it was time now. He stood up and carried Yumichika out of the drift, setting him down close to another birch tree, this one a young growth with a skinny trunk of flaky, paper-thin white bark.

"Are you ready?" he asked, stretching Yumichika's arms above his head and tying them off to the base of the trunk.

"I've b-been ready." Even through chattering teeth, Yumcihika somehow managed to sound sultry and wanton. "Y-you'd better hurry, b-because I-I'm going to explode s-soon."

"That's what you said thirty minutes ago," Mendalo teased. "But it's time. Me first."

He unbound Yumichika's ankles, spread his legs and pulled him to the full length of the obi holding his wrists. Then he crawled on his hands until he was face-to-face with him. He kissed him gently half a dozen times. As he drew back, he saw the look of anticipatory bliss on Yumichika's face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, lips tremblilng.

"Yumichika, look at me for a second."

Yumichika opened his eyes. The pools of violet were as dangerous as any unfathomed sea.

"This might hurt a little," Mendalo began. "But I promise, it will be worth it. I have to keep you from coming."

Yumichika could only nod, not having any idea what Mendalo was proposing.

"You tell me if it hurts too badly, and I'll make it stop," Mendalo said.

"H-hurry," was all Yumichika could say, and then a spasm wracked his body, battling for release.

Mendalo bent over and covered Yumichika's mouth with his own. At the same time, he reached down with both hands and grasped the end of the obi in one hand and the slip knot in the other. With a rapid, fluid movement, he drew the knot tighter.

Yumichika shrieked into Mendalo's mouth and bucked against the pain. The natural reaction to lower his arms in protection met with the resistance of the ties binding him to the tree, but he had the presence of mind not to break free, preferring to prolong the very act that he had been pleading for to come to conclusion.

"Keep kissing me—just focus on kissing me," Mendalo whispered. "The pain will go away in a few seconds. Just keep kissing me."

Yumichika did his best to follow Mendalo's instruction, but he could scarcely draw breath. And then, after thirty seconds, just as Mendalo had said, the pain faded into a dull throbbing.

"One more time."

Yumichika had not even processed Mendalo's words before the tie around his penis was once again drawn tighter, and this time, it brought tears to Yumichika's eyes, although he could manage no sound other than a strangled gurgle. The pain of this garroting also took much longer to subside, during which Mendalo moved back down between Yumichika's outstretched legs, drawing them both up over his shoulders. He leaned back, and using the cleft of Yumichika's buttocks to guide him, slid down until he found the small indentation. He probed once, only an inch if that, causing Yumichika to buck and flail.

But Mendalo had anticipated this and had Yumichika's legs quickly under control, and then he went steadily inside. Not fast, not slow. He went at a speed meant to give himself maximum pleasure, and as he buried himself inside his gasping, quaking lover, the very image of subjugated beauty, he wished he could even further prolong this incredible sight. But looking at Yumichika, he knew it was not possible. Yumichika would be ruined for good if Mendalo let his own selfishness take over.

He began moving in and out, slowly at first, then increasing in speed, until each thrust had the force of a battering ram, forcing a cry to erupt from Yumichika's lungs with every pulse. He drove harder and deeper and faster, never taking his eye from the face of his lover, contorted with the intoxicating mixture of arousal, pain and desperation.

Was there anyone—anything—in all of existence that could rival this man's ability to seduce?

But Yumichika, for his own part, had long since stopped trying to seduce on purpose. Any hint of seduction that Mendalo was experiencing now was the result of Yumichika's natural attractions.

The moment the tie had gone on him, Yumichika had been sinking ever deeper into the role of the one being taken. And it was a role that he was finding almost hypnotic.

He wanted to climb whatever heights were available to him, and Mendalo seemed more than willing to take him there. The feel of the sword smith, tight inside him, moving over the spot that could bring him – would have brought him by now, except for the knot binding him – the jarring, jolting, brutal pounding, the friction of skin against skin, the sound, the smell, the cloth around his wrists growing tighter when each pull and jam, the freezing cold of the snow against his back . . .

The knot was not going to hold him.

Almost as if reading his mind at that very same moment, Mendalo yanked it tighter. Yumichika went stiff against the pain. Mendalo emptied himself into his lover. Yumichika felt the warmth inside him, and as it filled him, it seemed to melt the rigidity and his muscles went limp.

Mendalo waited a while before withdrawing.

"Your turn now," he said. He stretched Yumichika out once again, took him in his mouth and went to work. He licked and lapped and sucked then crawled up his body, kissing him as he went. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Yumichika said, his voice barely even a whisper. He was shaking uncontrollably.

"One last thing . . . try not to hurt me," Mendalo smiled, as he positioned himself astride Yumichika's waist, facing his feet. He raised up on his knees, reached beneath him with one hand to grasp Yumichika's penis, which he held steady as he lowered himself slowly onto it.

Immediately, Yumichika began to spasm. The angle he was at intensified the contact, sending him into a fit of sensation, unable to release. Atop him, Mendalo leaned forward slightly to increase the friction. He reached beneath Yumichika and inserted the fingers of one hand, massaging gently.

And then he began the movement of his own body up and down. When Yumichika tried to control the movement himself, Mendalo pressed him down. "No, no, we're going to do this my way." For nearly five minutes, the sword maker took Yumichika in and out, and then he began moving rapidly. He removed his fingers from inside him and pulled loose the slip knot.

Mendalo was not sure what happened next. He didn't have to make a move for Yumichika to erupt violently; he felt the first dozen or so thrusts, powerful to throw him off balance. He teetered on his knees for several seconds, the sounds of Yumichika's choked screams still loud enough to raise fear of being heard. Then something knocked him face down into the snow in a flash of blue-green light. A wave of erotic potency swept over him, smothering him for several seconds in a sea of ravenous hunger. He pushed up on his hands and knees, turned his head to see Yumichika lying panting in the snow, frequent spasms rattling his body; and he felt a burning urgency to . . . possess and . . . consume him. But then, the hunger started to fade, leaving him bewildered yet feeling more fulfilled than he had felt only seconds earlier, before the flash of light.

He crawled over to Yumichika.

"Yumichika?" he said softly, rubbing his palms against the pale cheeks.

Several seconds passed, then Yumichika's eyes fluttered open. As his vision cleared, an almost imperceptible smile curled his lips. "Wow."

Mendalo freed his wrists and helped him sit up. "You're still shaking."

"That was . . . that was . . . " Yumichika's voice was thin, the trailing remnant of ecstasy.

"Good?" Mendalo finished the sentence, kissing his temple.

"Amazing," Yumichika corrected.

"You make it easy to create amazement," Mendalo remarked. "And I have to tell you, I was blown away - literally." He paused. "What was that?"

"What was . . . what?" Yumichika asked.

"That flash of light," Mendalo replied.

"Light?"

"When you came, there was a burst of bluish light, and then . . . I felt like I—I wanted to . . . to devour you. It passed over me and then it faded," Mendalo explained. "It was your reiatsu, wasn't it?"

"I think so," Yumichika whispered feebly. "I felt . . . I felt like my spirit energy exploded into a—a million pieces."

"Well, it was an incredible feeling passing over, but . . . dangerous," Mendalo admitted. "Something I'll have to keep in mind for next time."

"Next time?" Yumichika gave a weak laugh. "Next time will kill me."

"I would never let that happen," Mendalo assured him. "Come on, we'd better get dressed and get you back to your room. I hope no one heard you."

"Was I loud?"

"Uhh . . . a little, yes. But it's also possible that other people may have felt that wave of your reiatsu, as well." A pause. "Can you sit up while I go get our clothes?"

"Mm-hm."

Mendalo retrieved the garment and returned to Yumichika who was unsteadily on his feet. He helped him dress then put on his own clothes. Right away, Yumichika leaned against him, and it was clear he was going to need support, which Mendalo happily provided, putting his arm around his waist.

"This is embarrassing," Yumichika said self-consciously. "I'm a Shinigami. I shouldn't—shouldn't be wiped out by sex."

"I'm glad you were," Mendalo smiled. "Stokes my ego." He chuckled. "Besides, I think you have a higher sexual sensitivity to begin with, so it's only right that you would react with greater . . . vigor."

"I'm glad you knew what you were doing," Yumichika stated in a tired voice. "You, uh . . . you've done that a lot before?"

"A few times."

"A lot."

Mendalo nodded. "A lot. But never like that before. That was the most incredible experience of my entire life."

Yumichika raised his eyes to meet Mendalo's. "Mine, too."

They left the garden for the officers' quarters.

As they passed through the archway that separated the administrative buildings from the living compound, a lone figure emerged from his hiding place behind one of the garden's larger trees.

Ikkaku waited until they were completely out of sight before allowing himself the luxury of a heavy exhalation. He'd been afraid that the burst of Yumichika's reiatsu might rob him of his senses and expose him. But unlike Yumichika's purposeful seductive assault on him in Guckoo, this had been a brief, insanely intense surge of sexual enticement, after which Ikkaku had immediately sensed a marked reduction in the level of reiatsu he normally felt from Yumichika. Clearly, the sexual climax had drained a considerable amount of his reiatsu.

And fortunately, during the activity, Yumichika had been so engrossed in the sensuality of it all, that he apparently had not even noticed Ikkaku's presence – a rare thing, considering his sensitivity to Ikkaku's reiatsu.

But now Ikkaku was alone, the snow falling around him, silence settling over the night. He was shaking but not from the cold. What he had just witnessed was churning in his stomach, tying his insides in knots. He wasn't even sure precisely what he was angry about. It was clear that Mendalo was not forcing Yumichika to do anything against his will; and although he hated to admit it, it was also clear that the sword smith had a genuine affection for Yumichika. But that brought him no comfort.

He began walking back towards his room, consumed in this thoughts. As he passed through the archway, he came suddenly face-to-face with Mendalo.

"Oh—Madarame-san." The sword smith was clearly shocked.

"Mendalo."

An awkward silence filled the space between them, then Mendalo said, "It looks like the snow is coming down even harder now than before."

"Yeah."

"I'd better hurry back to my place before it gets too deep." It was a passable excuse, which Ikkaku accepted with a nod and no questions.

But as they parted, Mendalo had the sense that Ikkaku knew something of what had gone on that night. And Ikkaku was aware of this. Yet, it brought him no satisfaction. If Mendalo suspected him of knowing what had taken place, that still didn't undo what he had seen. It didn't return Yumichika to him—

Return Yumichika to him? That was an unexpected thought. An offensive thought. Yumichika was attached _to him_; not the other way around. And to prove it, he walked past Yumichika's room, straight to his own. He did not stop to call on him or see how he was. Damn, Yumichika had just given a full-body demonstration of how he was, of what was important to him.

While Ikkaku had been meeting his zanpakuto for the first time, under the tutelage of a near stranger – all because Yumichika had declined – Yumichika had been busy romping around in sexual euphoria. Yumichika probably didn't even care that Ikkaku had started his training in jinzen that night.

Damn, Yumichika probably didn't even remember how much he had yearned for Ikkaku. He seemed to have forgotten all that Ikkaku had once meant to him. It seemed impossible, but someone else had replaced him in Yumichika's affections. The only other possibility was that Yumichika had let easy sexual conquest take over his life again.

And Ikkaku did not what to contemplate what that would mean.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 Resignation

_"Over the hill, the sunset dies and fades away.  
__I turn and I close the door with one last good-bye.  
__I will return no more. I'll take my heart and let it fly."_

_Broken Dream  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

Hoozukimaru took a deep breath before sinking into the small pool that would lead him to Ruri'iro Kujaku's world. It was not that he needed the air for the brief journey. Whatever the water was that connected the two worlds, one thing it did not present was a drowning hazard. He could breathe just fine in it.

No, the inhalation was meant more to prepare him for what he feared would be a terrible scene. Less than two hours ago, he had soundly defeated his master, capping off the event with an entreaty to hurry back so they could engage once again. Fighting with Ikkaku had been the best time he'd ever had – even more than the time spent with Ruri'iro Kujaku. It had been so exhilarating that no sooner had he kicked Ikkaku out of his world than he had immediately made use of his master's senses to see and hear if Ikkaku was feeling the same excitement and thrill that he was.

To hear Ikkaku tell the other man – Iba was his name – of the experience of their first encounter gave Hoozukimaru great satisfaction. So much so that Hoozukimaru had continued to look out through Ikkaku's eyes and listen through his ears during the entire conversation as the two men had walked back to their rooms in the officers' quarters, as well his master's return to the garden. That being the case, the dragon knew what his master had seen and heard. He'd seen and heard it himself. And he was absolutely certain that Ruri'iro Kujaku had seen it, too. The temperamental peacock would be devastated by his master's actions.

And it was the impending display of grief and rage that made Hoozukimaru draw the breath he would need to fortify himself.

Coming up in the cave of the peacocks, he felt Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu at once. But it felt strangely muffled, in much the way voices sound muffled through a door.

"Flashy?" he called out.

No answer.

He searched for a while, checking the maroon room, the cliffs above the sea, the fields of peacock feathers. He could not be sure, but he thought that something was missing from the locations he searched out, missing from the spaces in between. It was not a feeling. It was as if the places – indeed, Ruri'iro Kujaku's entire world – had lost . . . something. What was it? A bit less color here? A loss of radiance there? A dimmer reflection from the mirrors? Could it be that Hoozukimaru was growing so used to the beauty of this world that he was no longer noticing it in its fullness any longer? No. No, that wasn't it. Rather, the beauty of the world was fading – infinitesimally, perhaps, but fading nonetheless.

At last, he focused solely on Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu, tracing it to the shrine. But the structure was empty. He put his hands on his hips and frowned, ready to be frustrated. And then from the wall opposite him, Ruri'iro Kujaku appeared, emerging like a spirit through stone.

"Now, that's pretty impressive," the dragon grinned, feeling a quiet admiration for his friend's seemingly endless abilities. "You can just pass right through the wall."

"Out of the wall," Ruri'iro corrected. "Remember, I told you that, to me, they're not just walls. They're entire vistas, full of life. I was inside."

"What were you doing in there?" Hoozukimaru asked, hoping against hope that the peacock had been so absorbed in his world within a world that he'd not seen what his master had been up to most recently.

"It seemed like as good a place as any," Ruri'iro shrugged, and there was something artificial and contrived about his careless manner.

Hoozukimaru looked at him for several seconds, trying to ascertain whether or not the façade was just that – or if it were a genuine lack of interest. At last, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku gave a congenial smile, and immediately Hoozukimaru knew that it was all false.

"Why do you ask?" the peacock questioned.

Hoozukimaru narrowed his eyes. He had to be careful how he proceeded, for he did not want an emotional whirlwind like the last visit. "Have you, uh . . . have you been using little pretty's senses lately?"

After a brief hesitation, Ruri'iro Kujaku replied, "I have." He sounded strangely proud and cautious at the same time, as if he were expecting a follow-up question.

And he was correct in his expectation, for his companion, voice and eyes still delving and skeptical, asked, "And you're not angry?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku strolled over to one of the lower windows and looked outside. After a long silence, he replied, "My master has chosen his path." A pause. "I choose indifference."

Hoozukimaru sighed audibly. "How can you choose indifference? You already care too much."

"It's a conscious decision," the peacock shrugged, running his hands over the feathery coverings on his arms like a preening bird. "Besides . . . how did you know what my master was doing?"

"Because my master saw part of it, and I was using his senses at the time," came the frank reply.

"Huh, it was quite a sight, I'll certainly say that much," Ruri'iro said.

Hoozukimaru could detect the sneer in the supposedly indifferent voice, yet he was not fooled for an instant. Ruri'iro Kujaku's feelings towards his master might be changing, but they certainly had not reached the cool bob of indifference. He decided to change the subject.

"Well, I have some good news."

Ruri'iro faced him with his best attempt at a light-hearted expression. "Tell me."

"My master entered my world for the first time tonight," the dragon said, unable to stop his own pride from swelling his chest and straightening his spine.

"He did?"

"Yup." Hoozukimaru might have done a victory dance, had he not been feared it would be too much like gloating in front of the bruised sentiments of his friend.

"So? How was it?"

"It was great," the dragon said with an eager growl. "He's a blockhead, you know; but he's my blockhead. And damn, can he fight! If he puts his mind to it, he can really fight! I felt so much more alive when he was in my world. He even makes me not want to be so lazy!" He grinned in anticipation. "Oh, I could still sleep away half the day, but I'd rather be training with him."

"That's wonderful," Ruri'iro said, but his voice contained no sincerity – only the attempt at it.

Hoozukimaru tried to lure him out of his dull mood. "You know what I'm talking about. You know that feeling."

After a hesitation, Ruri'iro Kujaku shrugged in another show of false unconcern. "I used to. But after what I saw tonight, I prefer not to be in my master's company." A pause. "I don't know him anymore. I don't understand what he's become."

"He's become what my master's made him," Hoozukimaru replied. "But don't you see? Now that I'm communicating with my master, we can fix things – you and me. You know both of our masters so too stupid to know night from day. They hang onto past hurts like clinging to a rock in a storm. They feel safe because they can't be swept away, but they don't realize that the waves are pounding them to bits against the very rock they're holding onto."

Ruri'iro Kujaku stared at him wide-eyed. "You thought of all that?"

"Don't act so surprised," Hoozukimaru grinned. "I'm not an idiot, you know."

"I know that," Ruri'iro replied. "But those are some heady thoughts. I didn't think you gave it that much consideration."

"I give it a lot of consideration," Hoozukimaru replied. "I see how miserable you are because of your relationship with little pretty, and I want to fix that. I don't like seeing you unhappy." He added quickly, "Or indifferent, as you say. But I don't believe a word of that. You can say you've chosen to be indifferent, but you'll never convince me of it." A pause. "And on top of all that, I don't want the same thing to happen between me and my master that happened to you and yours."

"That's not likely," Ruri'iro said. "Madarame isn't as insecure as my master."

"He's also not as smart," Hoozukimaru replied with an almost scoffing chuckle. "Let's face it: the two of them are perfect for each other, because they're both fools, but there's just enough brains between them to make for one fairly decent soul."

"That may be, but I don't think my master is perfect _for me_ anymore."

"Whether he is or not, he's what you've got. And if you want to brood, that's your choice—"

"I'm not brooding." The fussy peacock tossed his head. "I told you: I don't care anymore. I am willing myself to be aloof."

Hoozukimaru shook his head and smirked his incredulity. "Suit yourself." He settled down on the window sill and moved the conversation towards something more agreeable to him. "Now, let me tell you about my first meeting with my master."

And because Ruri'iro Kujaku loved him, the peacock perched on the opposite sill . . .

. . . and listened.

* * *

The glow of light creeping out from the edges of the brazier cast strange images on the ceiling. For a moment, the light took on the shape of a snake; then it transformed into a flower stem or the elegant neck of a swan, occasionally spreading out in the form of a peacock's fan.

It might have been Ikkaku's imagination, but why did the light's every shape seem to speak of Yumichika. Swans, peacocks, flowers . . . all things of beauty and grace. The snake . . . a part of Yumichika that certainly existed but had long been silent after the horrible events of Mito. Ikkaku had believed it to be banished, but now he knew it had only lain dormant. Yumichika's insatiable need for attention had come roaring back, and Ikkaku had no idea how to counter it – or even if he should try. After all, he had no reason – yet – to suspect that Yumichika was tossing his body away on all comers. The only one he had reason to suspect of involvement was Mendalo; and he could see no reason to dislike the man, other than that he was the recipient of Yumichika's attention.

Yet, he could not clear his mind of the images he had seen that night, the intensity he had felt even from a place of hiding. He knew, from first-hand experience, the fire Yumichika ignited inside his lovers; but to see it in full action, standing as an observer, a voyeur, at the edge of an exchange so wanton and erotic, he could not have imagined it, he found himself hanging between his own desire to be on the receiving end of such attention and a nagging disapproval of everything he had just witnessed.

Then a startling thought occurred to him. Was it possible—could it be that he had internalized more of the Brothers' teaching than he'd realized? Had the monastery's lessons a lifetime ago taken root somewhere deep inside him and were only now coming to fruition? Were the words of Hakama so deeply ingrained that they had followed him through death only to be enacted in this life?

Or was it something much simpler?

Was it nothing more than base jealousy?

He wanted what Yumichika had to give; and he didn't want it. He wanted to live in accordance with certain virtues; and he wanted to abandon any sense of propriety. He wanted to keep Yumichika within reach; he wanted to hold him at arm's length.

In short, he didn't know what the hell he wanted.

And it was this indecision that kept him up all night, breeding the surliness in his heart that was still present when dawn rolled around. He splashed some water on his face and went straight to the squad training room, not stopping to get Yumichika. He did not want to see him.

Entering the training hall, he spotted Iba right away and went to join him, anxious to redirect his thoughts towards something less aggravating.

"Ikkaku," Iba greeted him cordially. "So, how'd you sleep?"

"I didn't," Ikkaku answered.

Iba grinned. "Too much adrenaline after meeting your zanpakuto for the first time?"

His words struck a chord. Ikkaku suddenly found himself growing angry over the fact that he had spent the entire night ruminating about Yumichika when he should have been rejoicing at his first meeting with his zanpakuto.

The thrill of that encounter, the newness of the experience – it had all been lost in the whirlwind of emotion wrought by what he'd seen between Yumichika and Mendalo. What should have been one of the most meaningful moments of his existence had been completely overshadowed by less important events.

And he was disgusted with himself for it.

"Yeah," he replied. It was only a small lie, but the truth was not worth explaining; and he would have been too ashamed to speak of it anyways.

"We still on to do it again this evening?"

Ikkaku nodded. "I can't wait. I've got some . . . aggression to work off, and he likes to fight as much as I do."

"Speaking of aggression, did you feel that burst of reiatsu last night?"

Ikkaku swallowed. "What burst of reiatsu?"

"After we got back, I had just laid down when I felt this incredible explosion of reiatsu. It was just a second – maybe less. But it was like a . . . a charge of . . . " Iba couldn't find the word for it, but Ikkaku was not going to wait before nipping this one.

"I didn't feel anything," he said directly.

"Really? I'm surprised. Everyone's talking about it," Iba said. "And after what you and I heard as we were walking back last night, out in the garden; you think something was going on?"

"I don't know. I didn't feel anything," Ikkaku repeated.

"I don't know how you could have missed it," Iba wondered.

Ikkaku knew he needed to abandon this conversation before it got his blood boiling, before he ended up revealing things best left hidden.

"I'd better go see where Yumichika is," he said as a pretense to get away. But it was a believable excuse, since Yumichika was not in the room yet. As he headed back towards the exit, he now noticed what he hadn't before: the talk in the room.

"Well, whatever it was, it was the most amazing thing I've felt in a damned long time."

"It's kind of like what we felt that morning, you know? When Madarame was fighting Tetsuzaemon."

"You're right! That's what it was like, but much stronger."

"We were on our way back from an all-nighter, and we felt it all the way out by Squad Two's area."

"Made me feel a little hungry, if you know what I mean."

_"Damn! Damn! This has to stop. He doesn't even realize how reckless he's being!" _Ikkaku fumed silently. _"One minute he's tossing his reiatsu around on purpose; the next he's losing control of it and letting it get completely away from him. He's going to give himself away if he's not more careful!"_

At that moment, Captain Zaraki entered the room. Yachiru, instead of riding on his shoulder, was bouncing along behind him, hopping like a rabbit from one foot to the other.

Ikkaku, being closest to the door, called the room to attention.

"At ease!" Zaraki bellowed.

Ikkaku hurried to his place at the head of the formation.

Right away, Yumichika's absence was obvious.

"Where's Ayasegawa?"

Ikkaku knew the question was directed at him.

"He must still be in his room, Captain," he replied.

"Go find out what's keeping him," Zaraki glowered. "And tell him he'd better have a good excuse. This is the second time he's been late in the past week."

Ikkaku was off in an instant, but he was irritated that he was the one sent on the errand. Why did he have to be the one to drag Yumichika out of his sex-induced stupor? And who cared if he were late or not? Zaraki was late more than half the time himself, and he never really took any action against squad members who showed up late to formation. He might use them for sparring practice, but all that mattered to him was their ability to fight; and so he overlooked infraction after infraction. Couldn't he have overlooked this one?

Apparently not, and now Ikkaku was being sent to retrieve a man whose only possible excuse could be that he was over-sexed and exhausted. It was disgusting. It was humiliating.

Ikkaku came to Yumichika's room and rapped on the door. He heard an indecipherable mumble from within before opening the door.

Yumichika was still in bed, lying facing the door, covers pulled close around him.

"You'd better get up," Ikkaku warned, turning up the wall lamp mounted beside the door. "You're already late."

"I d-don't feel well," came the response, spoken through chattering teeth.

Ikkaku felt absolutely no sympathy. He approached the magnificent futon Yumichika had procured and adorned for himself. Even amidst the kincob satins and satara quilts, surrounded by hues of blue and green and gold, Yumichika did not look well. The warm orange hue from the lamp could not hide the paleness of his face or disguise the shivering of his body beneath the covers.

"What's wrong?" Ikkaku asked, looking down at him but with no move to comfort.

"I can't st-stop shaking," Yumichika replied. "My—head hurts. I'm c-cold. My whole b-body aches."

Ikkaku was still unmoved. "So, what do you want me to tell the captain?"

"Tell him I'm s-sick," Yumichika replied.

At that moment, Ikkaku became aware of something he had not noticed upon entering the room. Yumichika's reiatsu, always powerful and present to him, was greatly diminished. To be sure, it was still detectable and, by any other measure, insanely potent; yet it was not of its usual caliber.

"What's wrong with your reiatsu?" he asked pointedly.

"M-my reiat—su?"

"It's kind of faint this morning." Ikkaku's manner was almost mocking. "You expend a little too much energy last night?"

"I—I don't know," Yumichika stammered. "I j-just feel si-sick."

Ikkaku's face was deceptively impassive. "I guess that what happens when you roll around naked in the snow half the night."

His words came as a shock and cut through Yumichika's discomfort, but they could not waylay his feelings of physical misery. He said nothing as Ikkaku left the room. He would deal with that matter later. Right now, he needed to focus on overcoming the sickness that was spreading through his body.

A sickness he knew could be healed in a breath. But he would not ask. He would not debase himself. He would not give in just to spare himself a few chills and a headache.

He would not beg of his own zanpakuto.

* * *

Captain Kurotsuchi turned the multi-pronged blade of Ashigosi Jizo over in his hands, contemplating the weapon's existence.

"If I were to die, what would happen to you?" he wondered out loud. "Oh, I know what they say: that a zanpakuto dies with its master, but what does that mean? What happens to your spirit energy? Does it stay with my spirit energy, wherever mine goes? And what if you are broken but your master still lives? What then? Can you be reforged? With the same amount of power? And if not, where does your energy go then? Does it blow away on the wind?"

A slow grin spread across his face. "I have so many questions that needs answers." A gleam appeared in his eye. "So many experiments to conduct."

* * *

"Don't you want to check on your friend first?"

Ikkaku gave a sideways glance at Iba. "No," he answered. "Yumichika's a lot tougher than he looks. He'll be fine."

But Iba was not convinced. "That's a stupid thing to say," he stated. "If he was sick enough to risk the captain's wrath, then he's sick enough that you should check in on him."

"I just want to get to learning more jinzen—"

"After you check on him." Iba was uncompromising. "I'll be waiting for you."

Ikkaku gave an exaggerated harrumph, but he didn't argue any more. He headed back to the officers' quarters, wondering how a fourth seat had just managed to order him around; but it seemed little price to pay for the opportunity to increase his learning in the art of jinzen.

He didn't knock this time; but entering, he was glad Iba had prevailed.

Yumichika lay precisely as Ikkaku had left him. It was possible that he hadn't moved once since that morning. Only now, he was no longer shaking. He was still and silent. Ikkaku hunkered down beside him. The ashen cheeks had given way to a mottled red.

Ikkaku touched his palm to Yumichika's forehead. The skin was hot.

"Yumichika?"

Yumichika opened his eyes and regarded him without speaking.

"Yumichika, what's going on?"

"I need a healer," came the whispered reply.

"What—what about Fuji Kujaku? Can't he heal you? Get him to heal you." A shadow of desperation came through in Ikkaku's voice. He was suddenly worried.

"He's still angry at me—"

"Then apologize to him."

"It's not that simple." His voice was growing weaker.

"Do whatever you have to, to get him to heal you," Ikkaku demanded. "You—you shouldn't be this sick. What's going on?"

"Please . . . get me a healer."

Ikkaku stood up. Iba would have to wait. Jinzen would have to wait.

* * *

Captain Kurotsuchi passed beyond the restrictive boundary of the crime-scene tape. He was part of the investigative team, so why shouldn't he go where he pleased when he pleased.

Against the far wall stood the zanpakuto that had not been destroyed in the explosion.

"Weak, pathetic things," he sneered under his breath, then with a wicked smile, added, "But you'll be of use to me now." As he gathered them together, he continued to speak to himself. "You're not my first choice, but a scientist has to start his investigation somewhere."

Ownerless zanpakuto could provide only so much data. Zanpakuto that had masters – especially those that had already achieved shikai – were preferabel. But that experiment would have to wait and be carried out with great secrecy and cunning. It would be risky and, by any non-scientific standard, despicable. Hell, even most scientists would probably find it despicable, but not the captain of Squad Twelve. He could barely wait to complete this phase so he could move onto the next.

He hid the weapons under his garments and slithered back to his laboratories.

* * *

"What do you sense, Isane?"

Isane Kotetsu did not usually experience anxiety.

Not usually.

But ever since her captain had started grooming her to take the vice-captain's position of Squad Four, she'd found that the _usual_ was taking on a different dimension.

Learning and performing under the tutelage of Retsu Unohana was both rewarding and nerve-wracking – perhaps the latter in somewhat greater frequency than the former.

But Isane would not have traded her situation for anything. She was meant to heal. She was meant to show kindness and compassion. She was meant to be the dispenser of sound judgment and solid advice. And as such, she was eager to absorb every smidgen of information, every sliver of technique, every speck of knowledgeable dust that came forth from her captain, for Unohana was one of the most revered Shinigami in the history of the Gotei 13.

When the need for a medic had reached the Squad Four barracks, Isane had originally planned to send an underling to Squad Eleven; but then Captain Unohana had appeared in her quiet, unexpected way and suggested that Isane go herself. In fact, Unohana said she would accompany her as part of the process of preparing her for the vice-captaincy.

But Isane knew well enough that her captain did not do anything without a deeper purpose. Tending to a sick Shinigami was a matter of routine, so for the captain to insert herself into the situation must mean that there was a greater learning opportunity here.

And now, the first question in that learning opportunity had been spoken.

_What do you sense?_

This was a test, and Isane did not want to fail. She was kneeling beside the ill fifth seat of Squad Eleven, while the third seat – a man who made her nervous just with his presence – stood looking over her shoulder. Beside her, Captain Unohana was there to guide her through something that should have been routine; but clearly, it was not.

"It feels like a regular case of over-exertion and . . . the beginnings of pneumonia," she stated.

"Is that all?" Unohana asked.

"Well . . . his reiatsu is strong."

Unohana looked up at Ikkaku with a knowing expression. "Is it strong?"

"Not for him," Ikkaku replied, shaking his head. "For him, it's low."

"It's very low, isn't it?" Unohana asked, although it was clear she already knew the answer.

Ikkaku nodded. "Even when he's suppressing it, I can usually feel more of it than I feel now."

Retsu smiled in a reassuring manner. "Yes, I imagine that's true. Would you leave us for a moment?"

Ikkaku was stunned by the request, but he did as she requested.

"He's not suppressing his reiatsu right now," Unohana observed as soon as Ikkaku was gone.

"Yes, I feel that, as well," Isane replied.

"He's lost a great deal of spirit energy."

Isane was perplexed. "But his reiatsu is still powerful. How can you know that he's lost a lot of spirit energy?"

"Don't confuse potency with amount," Retsu replied. "A single drop of cyanide is as potent as a vat. What you're feeling is the potency of his reiatsu. But if you expand your sensitivity to encompass his capacity for spirit energy, you will find that his stores have been greatly depleted." A pause. "Close your eyes. Reach out and open your senses."

Isane did so. It was not a new practice to her. She'd done it plenty of times before, but with always the same result. The potency and the capacity had been equal within virtually every Shinigami she'd ever examined. Whatever the strength of reiatsu she'd measured, that was the full display of their capacity for power. That even included some high-ranking officers. There had been some, few and far between, who had vast reservoirs of spirit energy, although the degree of potency varied from officer to officer.

After a few seconds, she opened her eyes abruptly, stunned and embarrassed that she had overlooked such an obvious indication.

"How—how is it possible that he can have such a huge capacity for storing reiatsu?" she asked, her voice agog. "It's—it's like a well that can't be filled."

Unohana regarded her steadily, encouraging her to go through the deductive process.

"But it . . . it wouldn't exist if it was of no use," Isane went on thoughtfully. "So, he must be able to fill it somehow." She paused. "And if it gets too low, he would be more susceptible to illness and injury."

"And if the reservoir increases its capacity?"

"The more reiatsu he needs to fill it."

Retsu nodded. "Precisely. Now, the question is, how did his store of reiatsu get so low and so quickly? Madarame said he came down sick this morning, and that it was very sudden."

Of course, Ikkaku had not told them about what he'd witnessed the night before – only that Yumichika had been "playing out in the snow."

Isane mulled over the question for quite some time.

Unohana noticed her protégé's cheeks suddenly flush red, and she knew she'd hit on the answer.

"You have an idea?"

Isane was notoriously straight-laced, chaste in both mind and body. She was embarrassed to even admit to what she'd felt last night, even though everyone else was talking about it.

"It's crazy," she deferred.

"Maybe not. Tell me what you think." When Captain Unohana spoke in this particular manner, her voice was hypnotic. It was impossible not to do as she asked.

"Well . . . last night, I felt a . . . a surge of energy," Isane began. "It happened early in the morning, maybe around three o'clock. It woke me right out of my sleep. It was . . . it was . . ."

"I know what it was like. I felt it, too. I dare say everyone felt it," Retsu put forth. "Everyone's been talking about it."

"Do you think—do you think that's what did this to him? That it hit him so hard it knocked the reiatsu right out of him?" Isane looked hopefully at her captain, excited about her proposed diagnosis.

But when Captain Unohana shook her head, Isane's shoulders fell.

"You remember how it felt," Unohana prompted.

"Yes."

She took Isane's hand in hers and stretched them both out above Yumichika's chest.

"Concentrate."

Less than five seconds later, Isane withdrew her hand abruptly with a cry of surprise. She looked at her captain with wide eyes. "It was him," she said incredulously. "But how—how did you know?"

"Experience, Isane," Unohana replied. "And patience. A first examination must be slow and thorough enough to give you a good picture. Rushing through it will only leave you with many questions and no answers. I knew, from the first examination, that it was his reiatsu I had felt last night. Even in the small amount he still retaining, there is no missing the sensual nature of his energy. "

"But why do you think he did it? He must have known it would weaken him," Isane stated.

"It may not have been his own choosing," Retsu replied. "And frankly, it won't matter in the course of his treatment. What does matter is that his reiatsu be replenished. We can wait probably one or two more days to see if replenishes itself. If not, we'll have to make an infusion." A pause. "And I'm not sure how well he'll take to foreign reiatsu. In the meantime, treat him for your preliminary diagnosis: exhaustion and the onset of pneumonia."

"You want me to personally tend to him?" Isane was surprised. This seemed like a minor job for someone in training to be a vice captain.

"I want you to oversee his care. How you choose to carry that out is up to you," Unohana replied. With that, she stood up and walked towards the door, but before leaving, she stopped. "Isane."

"Yes, captain?"

"Don't forget about discretion."

It was a strange thing to say, for a patient's privacy was always paramount. But Isane knew that there were some odd things about this particular patient that probably warranted the cautionary words.

"I won't," she replied.

* * *

"How's he doing?"

Ikkaku turned at the sound of Iba's voice. He was still standing outside Yumichika's room, impatient to know what was going on.

At the same time that Iba asked the question, the door opened and Captain Unohana emerged. She began speaking before the questions could be asked.

"He's very ill," she said. "But I don't sense that it's life-threatening. My main concern is that his reiatsu is very low. Most of the time, reiatsu restores itself. We'll know in a few days if that's the case here. In the meantime, he needs to keep still and quiet." She looked at Ikkaku with a strange, unreadable expression. "And whatever he did that brought him to this point, he needs to not do it again."

Ikkaku felt his face flush warm under her gaze. It was if she knew what had happened the night before and suspected Ikkaku of being the one to instigate it.

The most he could do was give a minute nod of assent.

Captain Unohana's slight smile glimmered like a jewel. "Good day, gentlemen."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Dear Reader, Here is a nice, short chapter to start off the week. Enjoy. TK**_

Chapter 12 Intercession

_"I don't need a reason.  
__I don't need to understand.  
__I just want to be with you."_

_Want to Be With You  
_John Lodge and Justin Hayward

* * *

No sooner had Captain Unohana turned to leave than Ikkaku went back into Yumichika's room.

The pretty grey-haired Shinigami from Squad Four was still there, her hands stretched out over Yumichika's body, a faint silvery light exuding from her fingertips and forming a thin, almost-imperceptible sheath over her patient.

"What is that?" Ikkaku asked gruffly.

Isane spared him only a glance. He really did grate on her nerves, for she could sense his impatience and the vestiges of a hostile temperament.

"It's a healing spell," she said evenly. "It forms a sterile barrier to keep out any contaminants that might attack him in his weakened state."

"A healing spell? Kido?" Ikkaku asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Isane replied.

"We don't do kido here in Zaraki's Squad—"

"I'm not in Zaraki's Squad. I'm in Squad Four; and in Squad Four, we don't let people die because of unwritten rules that make no sense," Isane cut him off, still continuing her work. "I know how things are in Squad Eleven. That won't change how I do my job."

Her words took some of the edge off Ikkaku. "Are you going to stay with him?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "Captain Zaraki can assign someone to stay with him. I'll come over or send someone to check on him throughout the next few days."

"How long do you think it will take for him to get better?"

"We'll find out in the next couple days. It will all depend on how quickly his reiatsu restores itself." She was finished, so she stood up and announced, "I'll go tell Captain Zaraki he needs to assign someone to stay with him."

"Tell him I'll stay with him," Ikkaku said.

"I'll tell him you volunteered," Isane replied.

When she had left, Ikkaku turned to face Iba, who had been standing quietly just inside the door.

"I need to get back into my inner world," he said abruptly.

Iba raised an eyebrow behind his shades. "You want to practice jinzen right now? I would have thought you'd want to stay with him."

"We can do it here," Ikkaku replied. He would not attempt to explain it, but he could not bear the sight of Yumichika lying ill before him. The events of Mito, so many years past, were forever seared into his memory; and the fear and uncertainty of those days of waiting – waiting to see if Yumichika would live or die – were hauntingly present to him even now. The idea of having to wait again was intolerable.

Especially when he knew that it was unnecessary.

"Okay, if that's what you want," Iba replied. "But we might end up disturbing him."

"I don't think so," Ikkaku replied.

Iba nodded. "Then let's get started."

* * *

"You know, you're pretty strong for such a little guy."

Ruri'iro Kujaku smiled at the compliment. A true smile. An honest smile.

And how good it felt!

Hoozukimaru had spent the entire day in the peacock's world; and if that were not a sign of kindness and affection, then Ruri'iro didn't know what was.

The dragon had done his utmost to take his friend's mind off his woes; and he'd met with considerable success. After sharing the details of his first encounter with his own master, he'd been so excited and energetic that he'd been able to lure Ruri'iro Kujaku into a sparring match.

That match was now into its tenth hour, at least. It was the most enjoyment Ruri'iro Kujaku had experienced in many months. They were evenly matched, as long as he did not release his shikai against Hoozukimaru, who had no means to defend against such an attack.

"That's true," Ruri'iro quipped, "But if you were ever able to close with me, I wouldn't stand a chance."

"Yeah, well, I've been trying, and you just keep slipping away," Hoozukimaru grinned. "Besides, you have an—" He cut off abruptly. "I have to go back, Flashy. My master just entered my world."

Ruri'iro Kujaku was disappointed, but he could not be selfish. Or jealous.

"Come back when you can," he said. "I'll be waiting."

Hoozukimaru hurried back to the lake and dove in. Coming up in his own world, he raced through the jungle towards the cavern beneath the volcano; and upon entering, he saw his master waiting for him.

"It took you a while to get here," Ikkaku began.

"I'm here now," Hoozukimaru replied. He could see in his master's eyes and feel in his demeanor that something was wrong. "What's happened?"

Ikkaku answered with a question of his own. "You said you know Fuji Kujaku."

Hoozukimaru was baffled by the sudden and expected nature of the question.

"Yeah," came the reply. "I know him."

"So, you can communicate with him," Ikkaku supposed.

The hairs of suspicion pricked up on Hoozukimaru's spine. "Why are you asking?"

"Because I need you to do something for me," Ikkaku replied. "I need you to talk to him."

"About what?"

"Yumichika's sick. He's really sick, and I know Fuji Kujaku can heal him," Ikkaku explained.

Hoozukimaru was stunned. He had been so insularly absorbed with Ruri'iro Kujaku for the past ten hours that he had no idea of what had been transpiring during that time. And he doubted that the azure peacock was any more informed – although he might be now.

"So, what do you want me to do?" Hoozukimaru asked.

"Fuji Kujaku is mad at Yumichika. They're mad at each other. You have to convince Fuji Kujaku to heal him. Whatever they're fighting about, he has to put it aside. He has to heal Yumichika," Ikkaku said in a rush.

Hoozukimaru cocked his head to one side. "You make it sound serious. Is it?"

Ikkaku looked away uncomfortably. "It is to me."

The dragon stared at his master for a long time. At last, he said, "And if I talk to him, and he does what you ask – if he heals little pretty – what will you do?"

Ikkaku's gaze returned to his zanpakuto, and the question was in his eyes and on his lips. "What will I do? What do you mean, what will I do?"

"What will you do? If little pretty recovers, what will you do?"

Ikkaku acted as if such a question were the height of absurdity. "I'll be grateful," he spat out in irritation.

"Yeah, you sound grateful," Hoozukimaru mocked, then he turned and began walking towards the mouth of the cave.

"I _will_ be grateful!" Ikkaku shouted after him. "Listen, I don't know what you want me to say! I just want Yumichika to be alright!"

Hoozukimaru turned back and regarded him through narrowed eyes, skeptical eyes. "Why?"

Ikkaku was caught short. "Why?"

"Why do you want him to be alright? So you can go on treating him like crap?" Then, seeing that Ikkaku was about to protest, he went on assertively. "Oh, no, no, no. Don't even try to deny it! I've been watching how you treat him for a long time now. And because you don't know what you want, you wishy-washy bastard, you've made him go through hell. Anyone else would have kicked you to the curb long ago. Anyone else would have grown tired of your bullshit, but not little pretty. He may be a dolt for caring about you, but he's a loyal dolt. And is that why you want him around? So you can keep pushing him away and then you can feel offended when he finds someone else who makes him happy?"

Ikkaku stared at him in stunned silence.

"You're my master, and I wouldn't want anyone else," Hoozukimaru went on, "But you can be a selfish bastard. You've been selfish ever since I've known you. You can't blame it all on your past, on the world of the living. You had a chance to be happy here. You _were_ happy for a long time in the mountains, and then you let it all get away from you. You hit a bump in the road, so you quit trying and left behind the one person who cares about you more than anyone else. Now, he tags along, and you have no idea what it's costing him." He paused. "And even if you knew the cost, I don't think you'd care."

It took Ikkaku several seconds to overcome the shellshock of such a barrage, but his reticence was short-lived. "Where did all that bullshit come from?" he demanded. "Yesterday, you and me were in here having a great time, and today you're acting like I'm the worst person you've ever met!"

"Eh, that's not it, partner," Hoozukimaru corrected. "You came in here to ask me to do something for you. If I do it and it works, then what will come of it? You're not going to change how you act towards him, so why bother?"

"Because I don't like seeing him suffer!" Ikkaku blurted out angrily.

"You've been watching him suffer ever since you left the mountains!" Hoozukimaru countered. "Having a few moments of happiness doesn't undo all the hurt he's been through since leaving Venla, since _you_ left Venla and lied to him about it."

"So, what do you want me to do?! I'm not going back to Venla! I'm not leaving Zaraki's Squad! What the hell do you want me to do?!"

In the face of Ikkaku's hysteria, Hoozukimaru was calm. "I want you to figure out what it is _you _want, and then do it. Stop all this going back and forth. Sit down long enough for you to get to know your own mind – no distractions, no one else around, not even me."

"Fine, fine," Ikkaku groused. "I'll do all that. Will you talk to Fuji Kujaku?"

Hoozukimaru sighed out loud. It was clear that his master was not seriously considering a single thing he had said, only consenting in order to get what he wanted. But, if nothing else, his desperation to see Yumichika returned to health was a good indicator.

"I'll talk to him." A pause. "But I can't guarantee anything."

"Well, make sure he knows that if Yumichika dies, he dies, too," Ikkaku said, his words sounding almost like a threat.

Hoozukimaru's sigh lengthened into a frown of disappointment at his master's childish tactics. "I think he's well aware of that already."

* * *

_Krrraaapowwww!_

The explosion sent a cloud of dust and debris into the air. In a perverse way, there was something exhilarating about the sight of destruction.

At least, in Mayuri Kurotsuchi's mind, there was something exhilarating, almost erotic. It might have been more arousing had the destruction been of souls as opposed to Asauchi; but nevertheless, he would indulge whatever enjoyment he was able to eke out of the event.

He'd gone well outside the boundaries of the Seireitei to an isolated and barren area on the western edge of 32 North. Here, he could conduct the first of his experiments with no one to interrupt or report his activities.

He had deployed an array of sensors all around the area where the unnamed and unowned zanpakuto had been piled up. Now, as the dust cleared, he moved forward to check the sensor readings.

It was just as he suspected: the time-lapse readings showed immense amounts of loose reiatsu at the moment of detonation. Subsequent readings had been recorded at half-second intervals, and they showed a steadily decreasing level of reiatsu, but nowhere near the low readings that had been detected after the explosion at the forge.

For two hours, he took readings but never once did the readings fall to the same low levels as those taken the night of the explosion. And considering that this explosion contained far fewer zanpakuto than the one at the forge, it stood to reason that the levels here should be lower.

Yet, they were higher.

Based on evidence gathered at the scene of the explosion, Mayuri had been able to reconstruct what type of explosive had been used and employ the proportionate amount for this experiment. And still, the readings could not be reconciled with the first explosion.

To Mayuri, this could only mean one thing.

The reiatsu from the destroyed zanpakuto had been stolen away. In fact, it seemed that the main purpose in hitting the forge had not been to prevent the production of more zanpakuto, for indeed, the implements of sword-making were all still intact; but rather, to destroy the zanpakuto already created for the sole purpose of taking their reiatsu.

"So, there's someone out there who's figured out a way to steal reiatsu, and they have to break a zanpakuto to do it," he mused aloud. "These zanpakuto were weak and nameless, masterless." He stroked his chin. "What about all the other zanpakuto? Does their reiatsu scatter on the wind like these? Is it possible to capture the reiatsu of a named zanpakuto?" He was growing excited. "That of a seated office? A vice captain? Even a captain?" He heard a small squeaking voice in his mind, and it spoke a warning which he could not ignore. "Oh no, Ashisogi Jizo, I would never dream of testing out my theories on you." A pause. "Not when there are so many others I can use."

* * *

"You're back already?" Iba asked as Ikkaku opened his eyes. "What happened? Were you not able to enter?"

"I entered," Ikkaku replied, his voice and manner subdued. "I did what I went there to do."

Iba looked at him curiously. "What was that? Didn't you go there to learn how to better communicate with him? To train?"

"No," Ikkaku replied. "I needed his help." He returned to Yumichika's side and pressed the back of his hand against Yumichika's cheek.

"His help . . . for what?"

Ikkaku waited a moment before answering. "Him."

"Ayasegawa?" The puzzlement was clear in Iba's voice. "Your zanpakuto is able to help him?"

"We'll see," Ikkaku replied.

"But . . . how? What can your zanpakuto do to help him? Especially since you only just met your zanpakuto yesterday?" Iba asked.

"He might not be able to do anything," Ikkaku replied, then after a brief hesitation, he said, "I asked him to talk to Fuji Kujaku and try to convince him to heal Yumichika."

"Fuji Kujaku?"

"Yumichika's zanpakuto."

"Ayasegawa's zanpakuto can heal people?" Iba was shocked.

"Yeah."

"But then why hasn't he healed him already?"

"Because he and Yumichika are angry at each other right now, and . . . Fuji Kujaku is as stubborn as Yumichika." Ikkaku shook his head. "But I refuse to believe that a zanpakuto would let its own master die out of spite. That would mean both their deaths."

"Ayasegawa's not in any danger of dying," Iba pointed out. "Not according to Captain Unohana."

"That's what she said," Ikkaku agreed. "But that doesn't matter to me. I hate seeing Yumichika suffer." A pause. "Even when he deserves it."

* * *

Ruri'iro Kujaku moved to stand before the wall, and the woodland scene thereon came to brilliant life.

He held out his arm, trying to coax one of the flittering birds into his hand; but they could not escape the confines of the wall. He was about to step inside when he felt Hoozukimaru's presence enter his world once again.

It struck him as odd, given that the dragon had only left only a short time ago, but here he was already returning. Ruri'iro headed towards the cave of the peacocks, meeting him halfway.

"I wasn't expecting you back so soon," Ruri'iro stated. "Did you have a fight with Madarame?"

"Neh," Hoozukimaru replied. "Although that would have been fun."

"Then why are you back so quickly?"

"He didn't come to train," Hoozukimaru said. "He wanted to talk to me."

Ruri'iro Kujaku made a derisive sound. "I'll bet that was an intelligent conversation."

The dragon ignored the snipe. "Your master is sick."

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked at him for a brief moment before turning away. "Is that what you came back to tell me?" he asked carelessly, strolling over to look at his reflection in one of the floating mirrors. "I already knew that."

"He's _really _sick," Hoozukimaru said emphatically. "It's got my master worried enough that he asked me to talk to you."

This made Ruri'iro chuckle in a scoffing, self-righteous manner. "Madarame asked you to talk to me? Now, that's a surprise. So, what does he want me to do?"

"He wants you to heal him," Hoozukimaru replied.

Ruri'iro Kujaku continued to regard himself in the mirror, running his fingers over the smooth skin of his cheeks in admiration of his own perfection. "You can tell him, no."

"Flashy, this isn't a game," Hoozukimaru persisted. "I looked before I came here. He's sick, and it's serious."

"Nonsense," the peacock said dismissively, waving a hand. "Believe me, I know when my master is ill. This is nothing."

"Ruri'iro Kujaku—" It was not often that Hoozukimaru used the peacock's full name. "You have the ability to heal him, so why don't you use it? If he dies—"

"Good grief!" Ruri'iro pushed the mirror aside and it floated off into the darkness. "He's not in any danger of dying. He's not in any danger at all. He's just sick!"

"You know how low his reiatsu is—"

"It will return," came the frustrated, impatient reply. "It will just take longer."

"Why are you being like this?" Hoozukimaru rebuked him. "Even if you're mad at him, you shouldn't want to see him suffer any more than—"

"_This_ is not suffering," Ruri'iro cut him off, sounding angry now. "I've seen him when he was truly suffering, when his life _was_ actually in danger. This—you coming to me—this is Madarame's own selfishness coming to the forefront again. _He's_ the one who asked you to come here. If my master were afraid for his own life, he would come to me himself."

"Are you so sure?" Hoozukimaru challenged. "He's as hard-headed as you are. Sometimes I think he'd let himself die rather than apologize to you or admit that he was wrong." He pointed a finger in the kujaku's face. "And you're the same way. You'd risk your own extinction rather than heal him unless he begged you. I swear, sometimes you both make me sick."

"Don't lecture me," Ruri'iro snapped. "No one knows my master as well as I do. And I would never let him die. I do have my own self-preservation to think about, you know. But he's not in any danger right now. Do you think I can't tell when my own master's life is in danger?"

"Okay, so maybe he's not in danger, as you say," Hoozukimaru conceded, although he wasn't sure he agreed. "But if nothing else, you know he's sick. You know he's in pain. You know—"

"I know what caused it." Ruri'iro Kujaku's tone was scathing, cutting across Hoozukimaru's words like a blade. "Is he not to be held accountable for his own actions? Maybe a few days in the sickbed will do him some good and put some sense into his brain." He paused. "Besides, I can't heal him unless he comes to me. And he hasn't." He turned his back and crossed his arms defensively.

"What do you mean, he has to come to you?" Hoozukimaru asked.

"He has to come to me here. Or he has to release me. Or I have to disobey him and manifest in his world. I can't heal him without some manner of actual contact," Ruri'iro said in irritation. "He knows that, and he can come to me any time he wants to."

"So . . . ask him to come to you," the dragon advised.

"I will not."

"Flashy—"

"Would you have me humiliate myself by begging him to let me heal him? He knows how to contact me, and he'll do so if he desires it," Ruri'iro Kujaku said, trying now to sound like the indifferent zanpakuto he had earlier said he would be. "He said he wasn't going to step foot in this world again until I wanted a proper relationship with him – whatever that means. If he gets that sick, he can choose between death and _a proper relationship_."

Ruri'iro Kujaku felt Hoozukimaru's large, paw-like hands on his shoulders. For a creature so large and intimidating, Hoozukimaru could also impart the gentlest touch. It was proof of a magnanimous heart that he was able to rein in brute strength in the face of a badly bruised ego.

"Azure Peacock," he began quietly, "You don't have to be wicked just because he's being thoughtless."

"I'm not being wicked."

"Prove it. Even if he's not so sick, ask him to come to you, so you can heal him."

Ruri'iro Kujaku sighed. Why was it that Hoozukimaru had the power to so easily break through the barriers he put up? Why was he able to prevail in almost every argument? Was the dragon's advice truly sound or was he, Ruri'iro Kujaku, just so soft and malleable that even the most specious of arguments could break his resolve?

At last, he nodded slightly. "Alright. I'll do it."

Hoozukimaru squeezed his shoulders. "I knew you wouldn't hold a grudge."

Ruri'iro turned to face him. "What if he won't come to me?"

"We'll worry about that if it happens," came the reply. "I'm going back to my own world now. Don't waste time." He grinned. "The sooner little pretty is better, the sooner my master can stop worrying about him, and the sooner me and him can start training together again."

A weak smile formed on the kujaku's lips. "So, this was all self-serving."

"Neh," Hoozukimaru replied earnestly. "I'm hoping it will do you and little pretty some good."

With that, he turned and headed back towards the peacock cave.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Captain Kurotsuchi?"

Mayuri looked up from the laboratory table upon which he had been reviewing data gathered from his most recent experiment. A short, stout man stood in the doorway to the room.

"Ah, Fifth Seat Oyukashi, yes, yes. Come inside."

Oyukashi entered and stood expectantly, almost insolently, in front of his captain. And insolence was never a good thing where Mayuri Kurotsuchi was involved.

Of course, Mayuri was pleased to see the impudence on the man's face. It would make the task at hand all the easier – not that it would have been hard anyway. The truth was Mayuri detested his fifth seat. He considered him lazy, ignorant and disinterested. A scientist should be none of those things.

Not only that, but he'd neatly neglected to inform his captain of the strange readings taken immediately after the explosion. The young boy – what was his name? Acorn? Ahern? oh, it didn't matter—the young boy had reported his findings to his superiors, Oyukashi being one of them; and Oyukashi had decided the information was not worth passing on to his captain.

Just one more stupid, careless mistake among many.

Mayuri had often wondered how such an ignoramus ever found a place among the previous captain's seated officers.

_"I shouldn't be surprised. Urahara was always a moron himself, so he had a penchant for filling the ranks with morons."_

But at least Fifth Seat Oyukashi could serve a useful purpose now. After all, he was a seated officer with a named zanpakuto. He had even mastered shikai.

And it would be so much easier to use his own squad as the subject pool for his research. Why, he could even eliminate some of the dead weight at the same time.

It was a win-win situation.

"Why don't you close the door behind you?" Mayuri said, his voice alarmingly accommodating.

But Fifth Seat Oyukashi was too dull to recognize it. And perhaps that was for the best.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Dear Reader, just a very short chapter for the weekend to wrap a few loose ends. The next chapter will probably be pretty long, so it might take me a couple weeks to get it ready to go. In this chapter I introduce "The Krampus" - named after the famed Bavarian tradition of Saint Nicholas's demons. The "Krampus" in this story are not meant to draw any parallel to the ones of German lore; I just like the name and the idea that they are really bad dudes. Enjoy!**_

* * *

Chapter 13 Mixed Feelings

"_In the gray of the morning,  
__My mind becomes confused  
__Between the dead and the sleeping  
__And the road that I must choose."_

_Question  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

Another patrol.

A different patrol. Not the same one as last time.

No zanpakuto like the last one – the one that had escaped.

The zanpakuto in this patrol were more common. They possessed average spirit energy. Maybe some were a bit more powerful than others; but most of these Shinigami were rank-and-file, thus their zanpakuto were middling.

But there was nothing wrong with that.

After all, was not this swirling conglomeration nothing but a mixture of the spirit energy of the rank-and-file? And out of the weakness of many could come strength?

That was the point of their creation, wasn't it? To gain strength? To impose justice for the weak, the nameless? To bring about long-overdue change and replace tyranny with hope?

To clear away everything that represented the past and replace it with a new, more perfect order? After all, who knew better than they did, what was best for Soul Society? Indeed, the entirety of existence?

And a few strong zanpakuto would be of incalculable value in the achievement of their cause. The kido nature of one in particular had made him immediately attractive to them; plus, his master was inexperienced, making him an easy target.

Or so they had thought. But something had happened at that last instant, an explosion of . . . not exactly reiatsu. It had been more like a palpable burst of emotion, and it had scattered them in its wake, allowing the targeted zanpakuto to be withdrawn from their reach. It had been a humiliating experience, but one from which they had drawn an important lesson – never to underestimate an opponent, even a novice.

Their master had gathered them back together after the incident and melded them into one again, yet each still maintained his own distinct person. The master had increased their numbers bit by bit, day by day. They understood how important it was for him to do the job slowly so as not to arouse suspicion. The destruction of too many zanpakuto at once would surely set off an investigation. Indeed, that was exactly what had happened after the explosion: just such an investigation had been initiated, and the master had been forced to lay low and quiet. He'd brought no new zanpakuto energy since that night. The only additions since then had been the zanpakuto of those unwitting fools who had attacked them on the previous patrol.

Now, here was their chance to bring more into the fold. There were several dozen zanpakuto there for the taking. While these Shinigami might not be the hotheads of the other patrol, they were foolish enough. And weak.

It would not be a difficult task. The _Krampus_ never met with much resistance from the weaker zanpakuto, for it was oftentimes true: there was strength in numbers, and to the weak, nothing could be more appealing than the chance to be powerful.

* * *

"Why isn't he getting any better?" Ikkaku demanded.

Isane continued her examination. "He _is_ getting better. His fever is down. His spirit energy is up. It's just going to take a while, but he is showing signs of improvement."

Ikkaku scowled. "Don't you think it would be better if you did something to . . . speed it along? Instead of waiting for him to improve on his own, isn't there something you can do to help him?"

"It's better if he heals on his own."

"It's been almost three days," Ikkaku said, almost as an accusation.

"And it's going to be at least three more days. Maybe longer," Isane said calmly. "Have some patience."

Ikkaku bit down on words that were better left unspoken. After all, it wasn't this healer's cautious treatment that was upsetting him. It was the fact that Yumichika had not miraculously recovered on his own – or rather, the fact that Fuji Kujaku apparently was unwilling or unable to heal him.

Ikkaku had waited long enough. His zanpakuto had already spoken to Fuji Kujaku, who had reportedly agreed to use his healing power. But that had been two days ago. By now, Yumichika should have been fully healed. Ikkaku had to find out what was going on.

Now, he was impatient for the Squad Four healer to depart so he could enter his inner world. He would attempt the jinzen without Iba there to oversee his actions; but he was more worried about Yumichika than he was about any mistakes he might make with his zanpakuto.

He leaned back on his heels, crossed his arms over his chest in a surly manner, and waited for the woman to finish her examination.

* * *

Hoozukimaru could not understand it.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had agreed to heal his master. He might have been against the idea, but he had agreed to it; and the peacock was usually good to his word. Why had he shirked this promise?

The dragon found the kujaku on the cliffs above the sea. He was surprised at this, for the last several times he'd entered, he'd found Ruri'iro in the shrine, which now seemed to be his favorite place.

"Flashy." He announced his presence, although he was sure Ruri'iro Kujaku already knew he was there. The peacock could sense when anyone entered his world, just as Hoozukimaru had been able to sense his own master's entrance into his world.

Ruri'iro Kujaku stood looking out over the sea, his back to Hoozukimaru. A steady breeze ruffled his feathers, almost giving him the appearance of a bird in flight.

"I did as you asked," Ruri'iro stated, still facing the dark horizon.

Hoozukimaru was taken aback for a moment. "You did?"

"I did."

"But I was just looking out through my master's eyes and listening through his ears," Hoozukimaru averred. "If you helped him, why is it taking so long for him to get better?"

"I told you . . . he has to come to me." There was something distant and sad in the peacock's voice. "I called to him. He wouldn't come."

"Well—call him again," Hoozukimaru insisted.

"I called him many times," Ruri'iro stated. "Many, many times. He won't come."

Hoozukimaru hesitated. "Is it—is he that sick that he can't respond to your voice?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku turned and faced him.

Hoozukimaru was stunned, for while the Kujaku was as beautiful as ever, there was a distinct dullness about him. He looked weary, care-worn; his brilliance appeared almost tarnished.

"No," Ruri'iro stated. "He doesn't come because he doesn't want to."

"But why—are you sure he's hearing you? Why wouldn't he come to you to be healed?" Hoozukimaru asked.

"Because he's not that sick," Ruri'iro replied. "He appears very sick to the rest of you, but he's not in any danger. He would rather heal under his own power than make use of me. If it takes weeks, he'd rather do that than come to me." He paused. "He wants nothing to do with me anymore. And I feel the same way about him." He walked away, and Hoozukimaru did not stop him. He didn't know what he could possibly do to make the situation any better; and if he proceeded wrongly, he might end up making things even worse.

And so as he watched Ruri'iro Kujaku disappear into the darkness, he felt a nagging sadness that he was facing the deterioration of a relationship that he had no ability to fix.

* * *

Well, that was easy enough.

Mayuri may have never held Oyukashi in much esteem, and now he knew why. The man was every bit as incompetent as the Squad Twelve captain had suspected. The ease with which he'd been dispatched was proof of that.

The fact that Mayuri had just killed one of his own men did not trouble even the remotest corner of his conscience. The vast majority of souls were expendable, and he often considered that if he'd had the power, he would have destroyed most of them long ago.

But given that there were souls far more powerful than him, souls who would not take kindly to his capricious elimination of those he considered to be of lesser value, he instead found solace – and indeed much more – in situations such as this, where he could still practice his own brand of justice and give freedom to his idiosyncracies, despicable as they may be.

And so, Fifth Seat Oyukashi's death was nothing more than a means to an end with no moral or ethical ramifications. Mayuri liked it that way. Morality was such a messy, bothersome thing. And ethics were for those who wanted to see morality imposed.

He was so glad he was not troubled by such things.

All that remained now was to see what the meter readings were.

He had placed half a dozen sensors about the room, and they had been taking measurements of both Oyukashi's spirit energy and that of his zanpakuto from the moment Oyukashi had entered the room until now.

Upon examining the readings, Mayuri found himself growing excited. At the moment Oyukashi's spirit energy had vanished, a brief spike appeared in the spirit energy of his zanpakuto before all indications vanished completely.

That spike . . . was it possible to isolate and capture that spirit energy in that short moment after the death of the Shinigami and the dissipation of the zanpakuto spirit?

Clearly, someone somewhere knew how to siphon off the spirit energy of a zanpakuto. Whether or not it was a technological or natural achievement was unknown. But for Mayuri Kurotsuchi, if the technology did not exist . . . it soon would. And if it were a natural ability, he would find a way to isolate and study it.

He rubbed his hands together anxiously. He could hardly bear the tension of waiting.

* * *

"Madarame-san?"

Ikkaku looked up at the doorway where the setting sun cast the inquiring figure in silhouette. Even so, he recognized the man immediately. He tried to keep the coldness out of his voice.

"Mendalo."

The sword smith's manner was deferential. "Can I come in?"

Ikkaku only nodded.

Mendalo came and knelt beside the bed. "What happened?" he asked, never taking his eyes from the bed's occupant.

"He's sick."

"Is it serious?"

Ikkaku didn't answer right away. He was not sure if it were serious or not, and he was wary of sharing information with this man. He did not know Mendalo very well, and what little he did know gave him no impetus to act genially. Still, that was no reason for him to behave foolishly by withholding information. "Captain Unohana thinks he'll be alright."

Mendalo raised his eyes and regarded him. "But _you're_ worried."

After a brief pause, Ikkaku admitted, "Yeah."

"I was wondering if something had happened. I hadn't seen him for the past two days," Mendalo explained. "I decided to come check on him."

Ikkaku was silent.

"It's strange to see him like this," Mendalo went on. "He's usually so full of energy." With that, he cupped Yumichika's cheek in the palm of his hand, running his thumb gently over the mottled skin. Every movement brimmed with tenderness and not a hint of embarrassment or self-consciousness. He brushed the matted hair away from the sick man's forehead and moved his fingertips in a comforting motion from one temple, along the hairline, to the other.

Ikkaku watched, unable to take his eyes from the gesture. He was witnessing the expression of unashamed worry and affection. It was clear that what Mendalo felt for Yumichika was something beyond simple fondness, and the swordsmith had no trouble owning up to his feelings.

Ikkaku wondered why he was unable to do likewise. In all the years he'd known Yumichika, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd been open and honest in his actions. How many times had he held back on feelings that he wasn't sure were even genuine? How many times had he second-guessed his own motives, casting Yumichika in the role of a spoiler, the one whose mere presence threw a wrench into every situation. Even now, he could not define his feelings towards him. He had never been able to figure out his own mind where Yumichika was concerned—

He froze. That was exactly what his zanpakuto had told him. Oh, he hadn't wanted to hear it at the time, but now, watching Mendalo act with self-assurance and confidence, it came barreling in on him like an avalanche. Mendalo loved Yumichika, and he was sure of his love – sure enough to act on it without hesitation or doubt. The reason Ikkaku had not been able to behave in a similarly confident manner boiled down to one fact: he did not know how he felt about Yumichika. And he did not know because he had never permitted himself to consider it. Every time the subject had crept into his brain, he'd pushed it down, never allowing for anything greater than an admission of fondness. Yumichika certainly meant something to him; there was no denying that. But what that _something_ was . . . that question remained unanswered.

And Ikkaku was not fully sure he wanted to know the answer. After years of searching, years of aching for someone to esteem, someone to follow, someone to respect, he'd finally found that man in the person of Kenpachi Zaraki. Not to disparage what Yumichika had done for him or the companionship that he'd offered, but even Yumichika had never been able to provide Ikkaku with the sense of purpose he had discovered in Zaraki's presence. Here was a man of brutal strength and raw power! A man who held his own life of no account, except to lose it in combat. Such a man deserved the entirety of Ikkaku's attention and devotion.

Yet . . . here he was, at Yumichika's bedside. He'd had assurances enough that Yumichika would be alright, but he could not bring himself to leave. He could be with his captain at that very moment, training, sparring . . . just soaking in the greatness of the man called Kenpachi Zaraki.

Instead, he was sitting in the same place where he had spent most of the past three days, eager for a sign, wearied with waiting.

And in some far distant corner of his mind, there resided the dull surprise of realization: the realization that he had, at least in this instance, chosen Yumichika over Zaraki.

He would never have expected such a decision to come from his own mind.

At that moment, Yumichika's eyes opened, falling first upon Mendalo; and as recognition set in, a wisp of a smile crossed his lips. It was the kind of smile that arises naturally out of the sort of pleasant joy that occurs when a man feels valued. The appearance of Mendalo, there to check on him in his illness, gave Yumichika a sense of comfort.

Mendalo returned the smile, but his was one of relief. He looked up at Ikkaku and silently communicated that relief. He watched as Yumichika's gaze followed his own and shifted to fall upon Madarame.

And then Mendalo saw something he had not expected, and it surprised him.

The expression on Yumichika's face fell away. The countenance that replaced it verged on beatific. Comfort had given way to peace, and it was astounding.

Mendalo could not deny it: Madarame's presence had put Yumichika at peace, and in a way his own presence had not. That only stood to reason, he considered, given the two men had known each other much longer than he'd known Yumichika. Ah, but there was more to it than that. That fleeting glimpse between the two before Yumichika had closed his eyes again—this time to depart for peaceful slumber—had spoken both boldly and subtly of the adoration Yumichika felt for Ikkaku.

In an inexplicable way, it made Mendalo feel sad.

_Inexplicable? It's perfectly explicable. There's no mystery here._

Mendalo could hardly believe it. He'd never cared for anyone the way he cared for Yumichika, and he had known the man for barely the blink of an eye. A penchant for casual sex had given way to a genuine affection, although he would not go so far as to entertain the idea of love – especially since he had just seen what love looked like in the expression on Yumichika's face at the sight of Madarame.

"Looks like he's going to sleep for a while again," Ikkaku stated. He leaned back and stretched. Everything Mendalo had observed, Ikkaku had also observed. He no longer felt threatened by the swordsmith, even as his own feelings towards Yumichika were still as murky as ever. Still, he could be magnanimous and allow Mendalo some time alone with Yumichika. "I've been cooped up in here for the past three days. Mind if I go get some fresh air?"

Mendalo smiled at Ikkaku's consideration. "No, go ahead. I'll stay with him."

In a moment of great cheek, Ikkaku said wryly, "Don't, uh, wear him out."

With that, he was out the door. The cold air felt wonderful against his face and invigorating to his body. The snow was beautiful, glowing blue in the waning light. He hadn't felt this good in days; but now that the burden of worry was lifted, so had the heaviness that had plagued him.

He left the officers' quarters and crossed through the archway to the administrative area. Off to his left was the garden where he had witnessed the events that had led to Yumichika's illness. More snow had fallen since then, covering over the remnants of what had taken place there; but the memory was still fresh. He moved quickly past the area, coming to the covered boardwalk that ran like a cloister colonnade along the inner walls of the square, following it towards the main gate that led out of the squad area.

No sooner had he rounded the corner than he found himself knocked flat on his back.

"Hey, watch the hell where you're—" he began angrily, but as his eyes made out the shape of the silhouette above him, he choked off the end of the sentence.

"It was an accident. But if I'd known you were coming, I would have knocked you down so hard, you'd have become part of the landscape. Now, get up."

Ikkaku got to his feet, thankful for the slush-softened ground that had cushioned the impact, but lamenting his now mud-caked uniform.

"Rangiku, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"Is that a serious question, or are you just trying to make me mad?" she asked, her amber eyes blazing. She didn't give him a chance to answer before demanding, "Where is Yumichika?"

Ikkaku was baffled. "You came here for Yumichika?"

"I heard he was sick," she replied. "Where is he?"

"He—he's in his room," Ikkaku replied. "But I—"

"Show me the way."

"Okay, okay," Ikkaku conceded. "But—what's the big deal? He's going to be okay—"

Rangiku felt the flame of outrage crackling inside her. _"The big deal? He's the only soul I've ever brought to Soul Society whom I've seen again! That's the big deal."_

Of course, she could not tell him that. She had made a pact with Yumichika to keep their secret past just that – secret. And so she simply replied, "He's my friend. What kind of person would I be if I didn't worry about a sick friend?"

"How did you hear he was sick?" Ikkaku asked, starting back towards the officers' quarters.

"Lieutenant Kusajishi and Third Seat Kotetsu happen to be members of the Shinigami Women's Association, and they mentioned it at the meeting last night," Rangiku replied.

"Shinigami Women's Association? Jeez, that sounds like a henhouse roundup—"

Rangiku whacked him on the side of the head. "Careful, Baldy, or I'll call in the big guns. You really want your lieutenant to know that you just called her a hen?"

Ikkaku grinned lopsidedly. "She's more like a baby chick." This time, he dodged the swipe aimed at him.

"Anyway—" Rangiku quickly returned to the subject. "Why didn't you send someone to tell me he was sick?"

Ikkaku looked at her, and he was clearly perplexed. "I—I didn't think it was a big enough deal that you—or anyone else—needed to be told."

"You thought it was a big enough deal to call in a member of Squad Four, and not just any member, ut the soon-to-be lieutenant of Squad Four, " Rangiku replied. "I even heard Captain Unohana came over to take a look at him."

Ikkaku's response was dry. "Who would blame her? Everyone wants to look at him."

"That's not what I meant!" Rangiku chastised, belting him in the ribs with the last word, sending him tumbling into the wall. "I meant that he got a lot special attention for something you say isn't a big deal."

Ikkaku picked himself up. "Knock me down again, and I might forget you're a woman," he said in a voice that was both a warning but also an invitation.

Rangiku simpered, "I'd be happy to tan your hide any time . . . but not now. I want to see Yumichika. I want to make sure he's okay."

"Didn't the girl from Squad Four tell you he's going to be okay? Even her captain said so. And he woke up just a little while ago, so that's a good sign."

"Mm-hm, we'll see."

They came to the room and Ikkaku slid the door open.

The room mightaswell have been empty save Yumichika, for Rangiku scarcely noticed the man kneeling beside him.

She rushed forward and in one sweep of her generous bosom, knocked Mendalo clear out of the way. She reached beneath the covers, drawing out his hand and clasping it between both of hers.

"Yumichika? Yumichika?"

"He's sleeping, Rangiku!" Ikkaku scolded, his own voice none too soft.

"Look at him! He looks terrible!" Rangiku fretted in an overly dramatic way. "Honestly, you can't leave men to look after things like this! You idiots in Squad Eleven have no bedside manner!"

As Mendalo got to his feet, he grinned down at her. "Matsumoto, if you were left in charge here, he'd probably be comatose from listening to your harping all day and night."

"Harping?! Watch yourself, Mendalo," she warned playfully. "I'd have him up and about by now."

Ikkaku was surprised that the two knew each other by name, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. If Mendalo had been making swords for Shinigami for a long time, chances were that he was well-known in the Seireitei.

"Somehow, I doubt that Captain Qayyam would agree to you bed-sitting," Mendalo quipped.

"If he knew how badly you all were handling this—"

"Rangiku . . . "

Yumichika's voice was a whisper. His eyes opened slowly. "You're loud."

"Ahh, Yumichika!" she cried out joyfully, resisting the urge to pull him to her. Instead, she turned smugly to the room's other two occupants. "You see. It took less than a minute, and already he's doing better."

Ikkaku opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, then looked at Mendalo with a shrug.

Good news was good news.

It didn't matter where it came from.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 A Different Kind of Love

_"Oh, I dreamed last night  
__I was hearing your voice.  
__And the things you said,  
__They left me no choice.  
__And you told me we had the power,  
__And you told me this was the hour.  
__But you don't know how.  
__If I could show you now."_

_I Dreamed Last Night  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

"Twenty-three men?"

"Yes, Captain Commander. It happened so quickly, it was over before I even knew what was going on." Genrei Kuchiki was almost too ashamed to face his commander. "When I finally got there, twenty-three of my men were already dead. The enemy was gone." He paused. He was not given to emotional displays, but at the moment he was in danger of being overcome by one. He needed a few seconds to collect himself. After a pause, he went on. "My lieutenant is leading the rest of the squad in the search."

"It was the same creature that Squad Eleven encountered?" Genryusai asked.

"It fit the description, from what the survivors reported," Genrei replied. "A black, cloud-like mass that killed just by touching."

"Did it communicate?"

"No, Sir."

"Did it attack your men or was it responding to their provocations?" Genryusai asked.

"They didn't provoke it," Genrei replied. "They were only observing. They had caught sight of it from a distance, and they went closer to get a better look. Then, according to witnesses, it moved forward – not aggressively, so the men didn't feel threatened. They should have retreated, but they didn't. And as soon as it came in contact with them, they were destroyed."

"How?"

"They just . . . faded away. Some went quickly; others took longer. But as long as they remained in contact with the being, they continued to disappear."

"Did anyone notice if the being was exerting any kind of spiritual energy?" Yamamoto asked.

"No one said they felt anything."

Captain Yamamoto walked slowly over to the bank of windows overlooking the Seireitei. Squad One's headquarters stood high above the boxy streets below, perched upon a squared-off mesa, just below and adjacent to the plateau known as Sogyoku Hill – the place where prisoners were taken to be executed.

The captain-commander was silent, and it was this silence that gnawed at Genrei Kuchiki's conscience.

The Squad Six captain had not felt this miserable in a long time. "I'm sorry, Captain-Commander. It was an unnecessary loss of life. After Squad Eleven's report, we should have proceeded with greater caution. I am fully to blame for the deaths of my men."

"Your negligence may have been a contributing factor, and for that there will be disciplinary action," Genrei replied, still facing out the window. "Yet, that does not alter the fact that there is a dangerous creature roaming freely within the boundaries of Soul Society. It is our duty to protect the inhabitants of this place, and so we will have to seek out this entity and destroy it. But first, we must learn about it. I will not have more needless deaths at the hands of this creature. You may go."

Captain Kuchiki bowed and left without another word. Once he was gone, Captain Yamamoto summoned his second-in-command, Chojiro Sasakibe.

"Send for Captain Kurotsuchi."

* * *

Yumichika tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

After all, Ikkaku was making himself useful and showing concern. Propping pillows might not have been the greatest thing he could do, but it was considerate and practical.

It was just taking him an awfully long time, and Yumichika was getting tired of holding himself upright. He was still tired and weak, having only regained his senses two days earlier; and both his physical and spirit energy were still lacking.

"I think that's good, Ikkaku," he said. "Yes, that's fine."

But Ikkaku was not convinced. "This needs to support your back more . . . "

"No, really, it's fine. It's very comfortable."

"Well . . . alright," Ikkaku conceded. He turned and picked up a covered tray off the floor. "I brought you some breakfast. Do you feel like eating yet?"

For the past two days, Yumichika's appetite had been non-existent, but this morning he could feel the gentle tappings of hunger deep in his belly.

"Yes," he said, reaching out for the tray.

Ikkaku curbed his relieved grin. Yumichika without an appetite had been so unusual that he'd not been able to relax his suspicious of some hidden, lingering remnant of illness. Now, things seemed a bit more normal. He ignored Yumichika's waiting hands and set the tray down on his lap.

For the next twenty minutes, Yumichika downed everything on his plate, and Ikkaku filled the time with occasional spurts of one-sided conversation – whatever snippets of news others had brought to him during his bedside vigil. Yumichika listened, making infrequent comments but clearly more interested in eating than speaking.

When all that remained was the last of the tea, Ikkaku broached a more pertinent subject, one that he was not sure would be well accepted.

"It took you a long time to get better," he noted.

Yumichika gave a one-shouldered shrug. "No longer than it would take any other Shinigami."

"And you're still not near being fully healed," Ikkaku went on.

"It's no different than it would be with any other Shinigami." Yumichika kept with the line.

"But you're not like _any other Shinigami_," Ikkaku countered, refusing to be put off by Yumichika's easy dismissal of the subject. "Why didn't Fuji Kujaku heal you?"

"I told you that he's mad at me," Yumichika replied. "And I'm mad at him. Besides, if I'd been in danger of dying, he would have helped me; but in this case, I didn't need him. I had no reason to go to him."

"He should have helped you anyway without you having to ask," Ikkaku scowled.

Yumichika gave him an indulgent look. "He can't help me unless I go to him. And I wasn't going to go to him. He needs to know that I can make it through a hard time on my own."

Ikkaku was dumbfounded. "He—he can't help you unless you ask him?"

"Something like that."

"And you didn't ask him? Why wouldn't you ask him to heal you? Why—damn it! Why would you want to suffer? And make me worry about you like that? Shit! Yumichika, I knew Fuji Kujaku could heal you, so when you weren't getting better, I was afraid it was because you were so sick that even Fuji Kujaku couldn't help you. I was afraid it was going to be Mito all over again," Ikkaku blurted out.

A pleased glow lit up Yumichika's eyes. "You were that worried?"

"I told my own zanpakuto to tell Fuji Kujaku—to beg him—to heal you," Ikkaku replied.

Yumichika was stunned. "You—you . . . your zanpakuto? When—when did you learn to communicate with him?" he asked.

"That night," Ikkaku replied.

"Which night?"

Ikkaku reddened. "The night . . . you were in the garden with Mendalo."

Now, Yumichika flushed crimson. He lowered his eyes.

"I was anxious to come back and tell you about it," Ikkaku explained. "But you were . . . occupied."

After several seconds, Yumichika said quietly, "I didn't even know you were there. I was so . . . involved that I didn't even sense your reiatsu." A pause. "I can always feel your reiatsu." The way he spoke, the tone of his voice: it was as if he were incriminating himself, admitting to a guilt he'd not even known existed.

"I was there," Ikkaku assured him. "I don't know why. I didn't need to go back; I already knew it was you. And I knew who you were with."

Yumichika was silent, so Ikkaku went on.

"Anyway, I learned that night how to enter my inner world, and I met my zanpakuto," he explained. "He spoke about you and Fuji Kujaku. It was like he knew him, so when you got sick, I asked him if he was able to communicate with him, and he said he could. I asked him to talk to him, to convince him to heal you."

Yumichika nodded his understanding. "Fuji Kujaku did call to me," he admitted. "He tried to get me to come to him so he could heal me. But I didn't want to. I wanted to do it on my own." He looked up at Ikkaku with a resoluteness in his eyes. "Fuji Kujaku forgets who the master is, and I don't want him to think that I'm completely dependent on him."

"Fine, but when you do something stupid—"

"I didn't think it was stupid," Yumichika interrupted. "If I'd gone to him, he would have—"

"I'm not talking about that," Ikkaku cut him off. "I'm talking about . . . the snow . . . and what you did that . . . that ended up expending a huge part of your reiatsu."

Yumichika faltered. "Well, I . . . I hadn't—I didn't know what Mendalo had in mind, and I didn't know . . . I didn't know how it would affect me."

Ikkaku, not given to thoughtful consideration of his words, nevertheless chose his next ones carefully. "You're being reckless, Yumichika. And if you're not careful, everyone's going to find out about your reiatsu. You'll become known as nothing more than a seducer."

"But you know that's not what I am," Yumichika replied.

"Yes," Ikkaku agreed. "But not everyone else knows you as well as I do. And Yumichika . . . you know how it is in our squad. You've been . . . I'm surprised at how well you've managed to fit in, and I just don't want . . . " He drew a deep breath. "I don't want to see all that ruined if they find out about your reiatsu."

At that moment, Yumichika felt dreadful. Here was Ikkaku, talking about the seductive nature of his reiatsu as if that were the greatest secret. Ikkaku could only perceive of seduction in the sexual sense; he had no idea that it extended clear into the very nature of Yumichika's fighting abilities. Ikkaku thought the deception extended to everyone except himself. He did not know that even he himself was being deceived – and to a much greater degree than the others, for the level of trust between him and Yumichika was that much higher.

"I don't know what to say," Yumichika frowned at last. "I don't know what you're asking me to do."

"I'm asking you to be more careful," Ikkaku replied. "To use some discretion."

Yumichika nodded slightly.

There was a long period during which neither man spoke. It was Yumichika who finally broke the silence with a completely different subject.

"So, what is your zanpakuto like?"

Ikkaku smiled. "Just like me."

"Oh, good grief," Yumichika sighed. "Just what Soul Society needs."

"Ah, he's great," Ikkaku said, sounding every bit as proud as he had always accused Yumichika of being. "He's tough and he loves to fight. He's no-nonsense."

"What does he look like?"

Ikkaku was stumped. There was no easy description. "Hm. He's . . . at least ten feet tall. Red fur. Sort of like . . . like a cross between a bear and a dragon, but he's got a human-shaped body. He's got muscles everywhere. You probably wouldn't like him, but he suits me just fine."

"Yes, I imagine he does," Yumichika grinned.

Ikkaku cocked his head to one side. "What does Fuji Kujaku look like? I mean, you've told me he's beautiful, but what does he look like?"

Yumichika regarded him for a moment, his eyes reflecting something deep within. "That's the first time you've ever asked me that question."

"Well . . . looks aren't as important to me as they are to you," Ikkaku replied, but then lamenting his lack of full disclosure, he added, "And I guess I didn't want to know about him, because I was jealous. I'm not jealous anymore. What does he look like?"

Yumichika's voice grew distant, and his vision turned inward. "He's too stunning for words. Like I said before, looking at him is like . . . looking at the sun. It blocks out everything else, and . . . if you look for too long, it will blind you."

Ikkaku was speechless.

"I suppose it's good for him that he has your zanpakuto to keep him company," Yumichika stated. "I think he needs . . . a firmer hand than I can bring to bear, someone who's better able to withstand his beauty."

"I don't know if it will be a firmer hand or not," Ikkaku replied. "But I can tell you that my zanpakuto seems to have a soft spot _for you_."

Yumichika smiled with pleasure. "Really?"

Ikkaku recalled the rebuke he'd received at his zanpakuto's hands regarding his treatment of Yumichika. "Oh yeah. He's definitely not afraid to speak his mind, and he gave me an earful while you were sick."

"What did he say?"

"That would be revealing too much," Ikkaku resisted, "So I'll just keep the details to myself."

Yumichika accepted this. "Well, I hope I can stay on his good side."

"If nothing else, I definitely got the impression that he's friends with Fuji Kujaku, so that should be a good thing," Ikkaku stated.

Yumichika felt a tiny pinprick of guilt, for what Ikkaku was only now discovering was something he'd known for months. Still, that fact need not be disclosed, not when Ikkaku was being attentive and well-intentioned.

"That _is_ a good thing," he agreed. A yawn got away from him before he could stop it.

And that was a sign for Ikkaku.

"You're getting tired. I'll take the tray back and you should get some rest."

"Okay."

As Ikkaku got up, Yumichika spoke up tepidly.

"Are you angry at what I did?"

Ikkaku thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I am. But it's . . . going away now or . . . turning into something else. I'm not sure what it is. And I'm not sure it matters."

He left the room.

* * *

If men had died here, there was no indication.

All was peaceful, undisturbed.

And yet, according to Captain Kuchiki, twenty-three men had perished on this spot. Twenty-three men destroyed by the same enemy that had taken Zaraki's men.

Or at least, that was the supposition.

Captain Kurotsuchi laced his long snake-like fingers together as he contemplated. He had been tasked a week ago by Head-Captain Yamamoto to come examine the scene, and he had been on-site for the last five days, having spent the first three assembling his team and finalizing the results of his unauthorized reiatsu experiments thus far.

In the end, he'd decided on only two companions: his vice-captain, a man named Mietel, and the young boy, Akon. After all, he now had a vacant third seat and needed to start looking as possible fills for the position. This would be a good opportunity to see if the boy had the expertise and, more importantly, the audacity to speak his mind. The Squad Twelve captain had little use for ignoramuses, but he had even less use for a man who was afraid to voice his opinions for fear of retribution.

Now, here he stood at the juncture between sand and sea, walking among the dunes, but finding nothing. No reiatsu. No signs of struggle. It was not surprising. Here at the sea's edge, the wind blew strongly, shifting the sand to cover over any lingering signs of conflict. It scattered the reiatsu like leaves on a breeze.

Not that Mayuri had been expecting to find any reiatsu. In fact, he was fully convinced that the reiatsu of the fallen – of their zanpakutos, at least – was not floating free on the wind, traveling on a never-ending journey into eternity. No, he was quite sure that the reiatsu had been captured and sealed away somewhere. Now, he was ready to wrap up his search after one final sweep of readings.

"Mietel, go down the strand a mile or two, and take continual readings," he instructed. "Akon, you do the same in the opposite direction. Note any rises at all. And be observant. If that being, by chance, has returned to the area, I want to see if we can communicate with it. Be vigilant. We are returning to the Seireitei after this."

"Yes, Captain," both men acknowledged, and they went off to their respective tasks.

* * *

_"Let us kill him."_

_"Yes! Let us kill him!"_

_"It won't be hard . . . and then we'll have a captain's strength to add to ours!"_

_"A captain!"_

_"A captain! A captain!"_

Their voices were legion. Insistent. Predatory. Beautiful in their grotesque cries for violence.

They were growing powerful – though not as powerful as they believed themselves to be, for they could certainly not defeat a captain at their present strength. But the day was not far off – a few more decades perhaps. Maybe less.

But what were a few decades in Soul Society? Indeed, what were a few centuries?

Still, he had to proceed with caution, for while they might not be strong enough to take down a captain, they were very close to exceeding his ability to contain them. And if he were unable to use his own powers of persuasion to control them, everything could fall apart before it had even had a chance to begin.

_"Children, children—" _How much longer would he be able to call them that? _"Your zeal is admirable. My pride in you knows no end. But if anything were to happen to you because I permitted you to set free your powers before they were full enough, before they were ripe enough, how should I live with myself? This man is not worth the risk. And his own spirit energy is despicable. Surely, his zanpakuto's energy would be the same. Would you want such filthy energy to contaminate the purity of your existence?"_

_"Master, you are wise."_

_"Always wise."_

_"Forever wise."_

He allowed a smile to form on his lips. _"You number in the hundreds now. But the day will come when you shall number in the thousands, hundreds of thousands. We must continue to increase our numbers, slowly and with caution. This man's presence out here is proof that they are still searching for us. This is not the time for confrontations, my children. You attacked the other Shinigami without my permission, and that was a dangerous thing to do. Let us all be more cautious."_

_"Caution."_

_"Yes, we must be cautious."_

_"The master says we must be cautious."_

His smiled deepened. How child-like they were in their simplicity.

And how demonic in their intentions.

He could not love them more.

* * *

One month later, it was mid-March.

"It's pretty warm today."

"Yes."

"You, uh, you should be careful not to tire yourself out," Mendalo cautioned, stepping around a muddy puddle that had formed in the middle of the pathway. He and Yumichika were outside the area of the Gotei 13 but still within the Seireitei, strolling from street to street, alleyway to alleyway. Their journey had no destination. It was Saturday morning, the temperature had risen nicely, and it was a fine day to be outside; so when Yumichika had stopped by Mendalo's quarters and suggested a walk, the invitation was readily accepted.

They'd left the Gotei 13 area through the garden gate directly behind Mendalo's apartment and ventured along the garden path, covered with melted snow, then through the narrow strip of woods that separated the garden from a fair maze of tiny alleyways past shops and residences. The snowmelt had made everything messy, but that was the price to be paid for pleasant weather.

"I'm fine," Yumichika assured him.

"I . . . well, I just wanted to be sure," Mendalo replied. "It's been just over a month since that night, and . . . it's taken you a long time to better. It makes me a little afraid."

"Afraid? Why?"

"Why? Why do you think? Remember, you told me you weren't as fragile as you look, and I've had proof of that," Mendalo stated. "So, when you got so sick, it made me think something must really be wrong."

Yumichika inclined his head in concession. "I normally would have healed much quicker."

"Why didn't you this time?"

A long silence ensued as Yumichika considered how much he dared reveal. At length, he asked, "I don't know if I ever told you, but Fuji Kujaku has an unusual ability."

"Other than the ability to seduce?" Mendalo smiled.

Yumichika did not miss a beat. "He can heal." He paused, feeling Mendalo's surprise. "He's healed me. He's healed Ikkaku. I assume he can heal others."

"You assume?"

"I've never asked him to heal anyone else other than Ikkaku," Yumichika replied. After a few seconds, he added, "There was one time . . . a child was injured. I wanted Fuji Kujaku to save her, but . . . she died before he got the chance."

"How does he heal them?"

"I don't know," Yumichika replied. "I guess his reiatsu—"

"No, I mean the mechanics of it," Mendalo interrupted.

Yumichika swallowed. He had not even thought about the questions his revelation might raise. In the back of his mind, he could hear Ikkaku's voice warning him that he was being reckless.

Reckless in so many ways.

"Do you have to touch the blade to the one being healed?" Mendalo asked, noticing Yumichika's abrupt discomfort. "Or is there some kind of energy transference without contact?"

"Uh . . . well, with Ikkaku, he—he just—he . . . "

"Yumichika?"

"I shouldn't have brought this up," Yumichika said.

Mendalo could see Yumichika was clearly troubled. "If you don't want to tell me, that's okay," he assured him, and he meant it. "A Shinigami deserves to keep his secrets." He squeezed his shoulder as a confirmation of his words.

"I'm sorry," Yumichika apologized. "I started to bring it up, because . . . normally, I would have recovered in a day with Fuji Kujaku's help." A pause. "But things are messed up between us right now."

Mendalo chuckled. "Well, after the things you told me about him, if he heard you say those things, I can see why the two of you are at odds."

"At odds . . . that's a nice way to put it," Yumichika replied.

Mendalo heard the stubborn upset in Yumichika's voice, and he determined to erase it. "So, what you're telling me is I need to scale back on my enthusiasm?"

As a diversion, it worked.

Yumichika laughed softly. "I don't want to say that."

"Just no more romps in the snow?"

"I definitely don't want to say that," Yumichika replied, glancing around. Seeing that they were alone, he sidled up close to him. "That was one of the most amazing things I've ever experienced."

"One of?" Mendalo asked in stunned humor.

Yumichika could not reveal his trysts with Ruri'iro Kujaku, which were beyond imagining and incomparable to any other sexual encounter he had ever had, including those with Mendalo.

"I don't want to swell your ego," he grinned.

"That won't happen," Mendalo assured him. "Somehow, I think . . . just looking at you will keep me humble."

"Why do you say that?" Yumichika asked, looking up at him with curious eyes.

Mendalo could hear the sincerity in his voice and the genuine quandary in his expression. It was amazing to him that Yumichika, who was undeniably aware of his beauty and its effect on others, did not understand the full extent of those effects.

He stopped walking and looked earnestly at him. "Yumichika . . . you're so beautiful that . . . you could be with anyone you want. There isn't a soul here or in the world of the living that wouldn't be humbled by simply looking at you. I'm no different from everyone else who covets your beauty—"

Yumichika shook his head. "You _are_ different," he protested. His voice contained a hint of desperation. "You're _very_ different." He swallowed. "You have no idea . . . "

Mendalo was touched. "I just want you to know that . . . I would never take you for granted. I consider myself lucky that you . . . that you overheard my conversation that night in the tavern."

Yumichika was speechless.

Mendalo went on. "And then to rediscover you here . . . it was the last thing I had expected." He paused. "I haven't been a good man most of my existence. I'll just leave it at that. But you make me want to be a good man." He gave a self-deriding chuckle. "It's just that . . . I don't know how. I have no experience at it."

At that moment, Yumichika wished, more than anything, that they were not out in a public area where they might be happened upon at any moment. The words Mendalo was saying to him were incredibly powerful, and yet undeserved. So undeserved.

Yumichika wondered if it were possible to love a man of such short acquaintance.

"I . . . I can't give you any advice, because I . . . I'm not a good man, myself," he replied haltingly. He lowered his eyes. "I've been given so many gifts, and yet I . . . I have a habit of throwing them away on . . . things that have no meaning."

"I find that hard to believe," Mendalo stated.

"That's because you don't know about my past, and it's best that it stay that way," Yumichika said.

Mendalo nodded slowly. "And I won't inquire. But you know you can tell me anything. I could never think ill of you."

Yumichika smiled appreciatively, but deep inside, he did not believe it.

* * *

Hoozukimaru shook his head and grimaced.

"I can't believe you haven't been killed yet, fighting the way you do," he chastised. "What's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean, what's wrong with me?! I've kicked your butt just as often as you've kicked mine!" Ikkaku shot back, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Considering you're a zanpakuto, I think that's pretty good."

"Huh!" Hoozukimaru puffed out. "Do you really think you've beaten me honestly? If I weren't holding back, you'd have gone down every time."

"Holding back? Bullshit. You haven't been holding back," Ikkaku replied with a smug inflection. "But you have an unfair advantage. You can't be killed."

Hoozukimaru regarded him with puzzlement. "Can't be killed? Of course I can be killed."

Ikkaku's brow furrowed. "I thought zanpakuto didn't die until their masters died."

"That's partly right," came the replied. "We can't outlive our masters, so when they die, so do we. But that doesn't mean we can't be destroyed while our masters are still alive." He paused, then added with an air of superiority, "But it takes a lot to destroy us."

"So . . . what if I accidentally destroy you—"

Hoozukimaru burst into laughter. "You?! You could never destroy me, partner! You'd be lucky to defeat even the weakest zanpakuto!"

"Those are fighting words." Ikkaku sneered a grin.

"That was my intent," the dragon replied. "I love a good fight, and you haven't given me one yet. The best I get is from Fuji Kujaku, but after a while, I like a different challenge."

Ikkaku lowered his weapon and looked at him curiously. "You go to him often."

"Yeah."

"So, uh, who wins your spars?"

Hoozukimaru's eyes glimmered in the reddish light of the volcanic lair. "Does it matter?"

"I just want to know," Ikkaku replied.

"You just want to know if your zanpakuto is stronger than Ayasegawa's," Hoozukimaru gave voice to the unspoken conclusion.

Ikkaku didn't mind the accusation. "Are you?" he asked.

Hoozukimaru considered. At the moment, Ruri'iro Kujaku was undeniably more powerful than he was; but given the deterioration of the relationship between the peacock and his master, it was unlikely that either of them would see an increase in strength for some time to come. But, Hoozukimaru, on the other hand, would grow stronger so long as he and his master continued to be on good terms. Whether or not he would ever equal or surpass Ruri'iro Kujaku's power was unknown; but he could definitely increase his own strength.

"No," he replied honestly.

Ikkaku had not been expecting this answer. He was stunned.

"You—are you serious? Fuji Kujaku is stronger than you?"

"We each have our strengths," Hoozukimaru replied, "And our weaknesses. But yes, he's stronger than me."

"He doesn't look stronger," Ikkaku stated. "He's just a . . . a four-bladed sword. And Yumichika's not a strong guy, so . . . " His voice fell off and his eyes narrowed. "You're talking about his other powers, aren't you?"

Hoozukimaru was a bit surprised, for he had not believed that Ikkaku was aware of Ruri'iro Kujaku's hidden powers. He proceeded with caution. "What powers?"

"His ability to seduce," Ikkaku replied. "His ability to heal."

The dragon felt a sense of relief. His master was still unaware of the true nature of Ruri'iro Kujaku's power. "Those abilities do make him powerful."

Ikkaku could hear the hanging inflection. "But?"

"But that's not why he's more powerful than me. He has other abilities that you wouldn't believe. And I'm not the one to tell you about them," Hoozukimaru said.

A specific recollection entered Ikkaku's mind. "I surprised Yumichika one day, showing up when he wasn't expecting me, and there were four dead men around him. He told me he had crushed them with his reiatsu."

"He might have," Hoozukimaru shrugged, wanting to change the subject out of fear that he was allowing his master too close to the truth.

"Is that the power you're talking about?" Ikkaku asked.

"I told you, that's not for me to say," Hoozukimaru scolded. "All I can tell you is that if you want to be a great warrior, if you want us to surpass Ayasegawa's power, you're going to have to work on it. We're both going to have to work together. I've been waiting for you my entire existence. Now, that you're here, I don't want you to mess things up by thinking too much. Let's just fight until no one can defeat us."

Ikkaku liked what he was hearing. In fact, he loved it. But he had one more question first.

"How did you know I was the one? How did you know I was supposed to be your master? You'd belonged to other men before me."

Hoozukimaru gave a wry grin. "I just knew. The instant your fingers closed around my hilt, I knew. I could feel it."

"Yet, for all those years, I never knew you were a zanpakuto," Ikkaku said in wonder. "It never struck me as unusual that when I died and came to Soul Society, you came with me."

"I wasn't going to be separated from you," Hoozukimaru replied.

Ikkaku was oddly moved by his words. They seemed gentle and heart-felt, coming from such an imposing figure. And in the face of such an honest admission, Ikkaku was equally forthright.

"I'm glad."

* * *

April passed through the Seireitei on warming breezes and fits of rain. The cultivated gardens took on a pale green hue as the trees and plants emerged from their winter sleep. The Jaght stream, running just outside the northern border of the Seireitei, was swollen beyond its banks, bringing rich silt to the low-lying plains. The woodlands and fields were coming alive again with flora and fauna.

The days were longer, the sun brighter, the sky a deeper blue. It was a perfect spring.

But not for everyone.

"You gonna be okay?"

Yumichika drew in a deep breath. "I don't know," came the honest answer.

"Look, we could talk to the captain, and maybe he'd make an exception—"

Yumichika cast a sardonic eye in Ikkaku's direction. "Absolutely not. I wouldn't even think of asking him. He'd think I was a coward, and he'd be right." A pause. "It's not that big a deal."

"Yeah, but if he knew . . . if he knew some of the background, he might—"

Now, Yumichika was even more adamant. "No. No, I don't want anyone to know about that. I don't want them to know _anything_ about it."

It was the last Friday in April. Morning formation had just concluded.

Just as it was part of the regular rotation that each squad take a wide patrol, so it was also that they each participated in what were known as "Lightening Sweeps." These assignments took one squad at a time out into one of the lower numbers, where they dispersed and made quick "sweeps" over a period of one week, looking for any signs of trouble and rendering aid if needed.

The prospect of "Sweep Week" was something most Shinigami enjoyed, for unlike the Wide Patrols, which lasted a month and could be tedious, a sweep felt more like a short vacation.

This was Ikkaku's and Yumichika's second Lightening Sweep since joining the Gotei Thirteen. The first one had been to Region Three-East – hardly even a flashstep away; and full of beautiful people and fine shops and diversions. That week had felt more like an excursion than an assignment.

But this time, such was not the case.

"Eighty-south is a big region. Maybe we can stay away from Mito," Ikkaku offered.

Yumichika knew Ikkaku was trying to be helpful. "Don't worry about it. Maybe it's time I faced the memories."

"Facing memories is fine, but I sure as hell don't want you facing any of those bastards," Ikkaku replied, sounding like his old protective self.

"It would be nice to see Kaekae," Yumichika offered.

"Yeah, that would be okay," Ikkaku agreed. "But I . . . I don't know if I could restrain myself if I ran into Hinsamoi or—or any of those other bastards."

"That was a long time ago," Yumichika said in a quiet, very controlled voice.

Ikkaku drew in a deep breath. "Yeah. But I haven't forgiven them. And I don't think my hatred of them is any less."

"You shouldn't hang onto that anger," Yumichika chastised.

"Don't tell me you've forgiven them," Ikkaku challenged.

"I don't think forgiveness is the word," Yumichika replied slowly and thoughtfully. It was clear that he was giving careful consideration to the situation he was facing. "Maybe it's just more of a need to . . . keep it at bay."

"To keep what at bay?"

Yumichika faced him, and the violet eyes, though radiant in the sunlight, betrayed an inner struggle. "Everything those memories evoke." He was very serious. "It's been a long time since I've really thought about it. Back then, it was fear. Now, thinking about going back . . . it's more like . . . I don't know. Is it possible to despise and pity someone at the same time?"

"Those men deserve no pity," Ikkaku said flatly.

Yumichika sighed. "I pity them because they couldn't resist my seductive power. They were no different than everyone else."

"They didn't want to resist, Yumichika," Ikkaku reminded him. "They just wanted to possess you."

"And I let them feel that way. I didn't realize then how dangerous a game I was playing."

"And now?"

Yumichika pondered. "My reiatsu has grown even greater, but the biggest difference isn't the level of my power; it's my ability to control it. And my desire to control it."

"Yeah, and you've still got some maturing to do in that area," Ikkaku chided.

Yumichika knew he was right, so he simply nodded his agreement.

Ikkaku returned to the topic. "Well, whatever you decide, I'll back you up. If you want to walk into the middle of Mito, I'll do it with you. But I'd be just as happy to avoid it altogether."

Yumichika smiled. "Thanks."

* * *

"Monday, huh?" Mendalo spoke into the moist smoothness of Yumichika's shoulder.

Lying beneath him, Yumichika murmured an assent.

"A whole week," Mendalo moaned.

"We should just be glad it's not a Wide Patrol," Yumichika replied.

"It will feel as long as one," Mendalo said, then propping himself up on his elbows, he stated with a smile, "I've become far too dependent on your company."

Yumichika returned the smile. "It's a good dependency."

Mendalo rolled to one side and leaned on his elbow. "I can't argue with that." He used his free hand to caress and knead and pleasure various parts of Yumichika's body. "Which number are you going to?"

"Eighty-south."

And although Yumichika had done nothing more than state a number, Mendalo could feel a change in his lover's demeanor, a rigidity tamp down on his body.

"What's wrong? You're tense all of the sudden."

Yumichika hesitated. "I'm originally from that area."

Mendalo was surprised. "Eighty-south? Really? So low a number?"

Yumichika nodded.

"Well, I never would have expected that," Mendalo mused.

"I wasn't brought there because of anything I'd done in life to warrant it," Yumichika explained. "The Shinigami who brought me here thought it would be good for me."

"From your reaction, I take it, it wasn't good for you," Mendalo queried.

"Oh, it was wonderful for a long time," Yumichika replied. "But now, I can't look back on it without . . . a lot of misgivings." He was silent a long time before stating, "If it hadn't been for Ikkaku, I'd still be there."

"Is that where you met Ikkaku?"

Yumichika nodded, and a small grin formed on his lips. "We met at a well. He was rude and vulgar, and I . . . I wanted to improve him. I thought I could help him. But it turned out that he was the one who saved me."

"Sounds intriguing."

Yumichika turned onto his side and slid up to press his body against Mendalo's. "You wouldn't know it by looking at him, but Ikkaku has very strong convictions."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me," Mendalo replied. "Most Capchetans do have strong convictions. Of course, he says he's not really a Capchetan."

Yumichika drew back a bit. "A what?"

"A Capchetan. I mean, he wears the okibi, so I automatically assumed he was a brother. But when he didn't know he was carrying a zanpakuto, I asked him if he were a member of the order, and he told me he wasn't," Mendalo went on.

"The okibi?"

Mendalo touched a finger to the corner of Yumichika's eye. "The okibi. The red marks. They represent flames." Seeing Yumichika's puzzled expression, he went on. "The Capchetan wear them as an outside symbol of their order." He paused and chuckled. "I don't know if he has the dokushin."

"I—I don't know what you're talking about. What's the dokushin?"

"You really don't know?" Mendalo was surprised.

"No. Ikkaku's never mentioned it," Yumichika replied, and he was beginning to sound distressed.

"Well, the dokushin is a tattoo that, uh, well . . . " Mendalo stroked his finger along Yumichika's penis. "It's here, and it's meant to remind the brother to hold to his vows." He lowered his voice in an almost lurid manner. "Does Madarame have the dokushin?"

"I don't know," Yumichika stammered. "I—I never noticed."

Mendalo knit his brows. "Aren't you lovers?"

"No," Yumichika replied evenly, but his mind was racing.

"I thought—I thought, for sure, you two were a pair," Mendalo stated.

"If we were, I wouldn't be here with you," Yumichika replied. Under other circumstances, he might have been mildly insulted, but he had other, greater considerations now to contend with. He sat up and turned his head to look at Mendalo, still lying down. "You said something about vows. What—what kind of vows do these Ca—Cap—"

"Capchetans," Mendalo helped out. "Well, they take the usual vows of any religious order: obedience, poverty and celibacy."

Each word felt like a stone laid across Yumichika's shoulders.

"No . . . oh, no . . . " he moaned, raising a distraught hand to his head.

"Yumichika? What's wrong?" Mendalo sat up beside him.

"It's not—it's not possible," Yumichika said, speaking more to himself than to Mendalo.

"What's wrong?" Mendalo pressed.

"He—he can't be what you're describing," Yumichika insisted. "He—he only got those markings on his eyes within the last couple years. Why would he—why would he choose to—"

"A couple years? That's strange," Mendalo said thoughtfully. "I've never heard of anyone becoming a Capchetan in Soul Society. The order doesn't exist here. It only exists in the world of the living. I've met men who were Capchetans in the living world, and once they come here, they keep the same vows, but they don't form communities. And there's no one to confer the vows on them, so . . . "

Yumichika stood up and paced aimlessly. "This explains everything," he muttered, at last going to stand next to the window, looking out over the moonlit garden.

Mendalo got up, taking a coverlet which he draped around Yumichika's shoulders. "Explains what?"

Yumichika was silent several seconds before turning to Mendalo once more. "What else does this order stand for?"

Mendalo thought for a moment. "They were warriors. Some were priests. They embraced poverty and pledged obedience. Mostly, they were a contemplative order."

"Contemplative?"

"Dedicated to prayer."

A puzzled frown furrowed Yumichika's brow. Suddenly, his "that explains everything" assertion had gone up in smoke, for Ikkaku certainly was not contemplative. He also did not fit the obedient part of the narrative, either.

Poverty. He had certainly been that way prior to meeting to Yumichika, but definitely not as a means of penance or growing closer to a deity. He had been poor because of the life style he'd been living.

But it was not the obedience or poverty aspects that were twisting Yumichika's insides into knots.

It was the celibacy aspect. In his mind's eye, Yumichika recalled the riverbank outside Maiweg's Orchard.

_"Am I wrong for wanting to feel you inside me?"_

_"Yes. Don't be upset."_

_"I can't figure out if you want me or if you don't."_

_"How can you doubt it?"_

_"But then, why won't you even touch me that way?"_

_"I have my reasons. They're the same reasons why I've never taken anyone."_

The memories were so vivid . . . and still painful.

But now, here was something that just might offer an explanation – in part, at least. Still, this new information cast more shadow than it did light. Ikkaku was, by no means, a man given to obedience, peace, or prayer. He was, indeed, a warrior. And he had managed to be in Yumichika's presence for over twenty years without fully succumbing to the sexual temptation Yumichika presented. Whether or not he was truly celibate was something Yumichika could not attest to.

Was becoming a Capchetan something Ikkaku had started in life and now completed in Soul Society? Could it be that his induction into the order had been cut short by death, and that was the cause of so much of his bitterness and anger? He had finally found a place of acceptance away from his father, only to have it taken away by death?

Yumichika had to know the answers. When he looked now on his actions and how they must have appeared to Ikkaku, he felt ashamed and anxious. But he also felt anger. Why had Ikkaku hidden this from him? Did he not trust Yumichika enough to handle the truth? What could possibly be so horrible about living such an admirable life?

Unless . . .

Unless Ikkaku had not been so admirable. Given his temperament and belligerency when they'd first met, Yumichika considered that perhaps Ikkaku would not have made a good religious brother – of any order.

"Yumichika? Are you alright?" Mendalo's voice gently drew his attention back to the present.

"I'm fine," he replied. "I'm just . . . I think I may have been making a huge mistake all these years."

"What mistake is that?"

"I didn't know about any of what you just told me," Yumichika began. "And you . . . you asked me if Ikkaku was my lover. He isn't, and that's the truth. But . . . but . . . "

"But you wish he were."

After a slight hesitation, Yumichika nodded. "Yes. I've wanted that for a long time. He always held back, and now I have an idea why."

Mendalo took him gently by the shoulders. "He told me he wasn't a Capchetan. I don't think he was lying to me."

Yumichika raised his eyes and regarded him dolefully. "But doesn't it seem like he wanted to be one? That he wants to be one?"

Mendalo could feel the pain and confusion from his companion. If he had known that Yumichika was completely unaware of the meaning of the okibi, he would never have brought up the subject; but it was too late now.

"No," he said slowly and quietly. "A Capchetan would never become a member of Zaraki's Squad. A Capchetan views fighting only as a last resort, not as a means of entertainment." He paused. "In fact, I don't think a Capchetan would join the Gotei 13 at all, not with some of the barbarisms that go on here."

"Barbarisms?"

"If you don't know, you'll find out soon enough," Mendalo skirted around the issue. He wanted to stay with the main topic. "I don't know a lot about Madarame, but from what I do know, I don't think he's anywhere on the path towards being a Capchetan. He's not cut out for it."

"But then why would he get those tattoos? Why would he do that if he didn't want to be part of the order?" Yumichika persisted.

"There could be all kinds of reasons. Maybe he did it as a tribute to someone he knew. Maybe he just liked the way it looked—"

"But why would he refuse me?" Yumichika interrupted. "No one—no one's ever refused me before."

Mendalo caressed his cheek and regarded him with an instructive look. "I think you're asking the wrong person."

"I can't talk to Ikkaku about it," Yumichika balked. "He'd be gone before I got a full sentence out."

"Then you may have to accept that you'll never know the full story, because right now, he's probably the only one who can tell you," Mendalo said. He drew him against his chest, keeping the coverlet between them. Seeing the upset this revelation had wrought in Yumichika, he could not deny the truth of the situation. He took a deep breath. This was going to be one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to say. "And I think you should consider your own feelings with regard to him."

This brought Yumichika's head up. "What do you mean?"

"You want him to be your lover," Mendalo began. "But here you are with me. So, that leads me to ask, do you love him?"

Yumichika did not have to think about his answer. "Yes, I do."

"In a way that you want to do with him the things that you've been doing with me?"

This question did not receive so quick an answer. Yumichika's gaze flittered down to take in the light and shadows of the garden. "Sometimes I do. Other times, I don't."

"And you feel no guilt about being here with me, doing these things?" Mendalo asked, his inflection meant to provoke thoughtful consideration.

"Well . . . no," Yumichika answered. "I might feel guilty if Ikkaku wanted me, but he doesn't. I'm not going to just sit around waiting forever to see if he changes his mind."

"But if he did change his mind?"

Yumichika was silent.

Mendalo finished the unspoken, obvious truth. "You'd be with him immediately."

And still Yumichika said nothing.

Mendalo knew he was striking chords. "So, what does that tell you about what you're doing now?"

Yumichika shook his head. He felt something swelling up in his throat, and he fought it down with every bit of self-control he had.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I think it's for the best," Mendalo went on. "You love him in a way that's far beyond what we're sharing. But for some reason, you've convinced yourself that if you can't have him completely, then you'll go find the sex part of it somewhere else." A pause. "And I'm telling you right now: that's wrong."

"I'm sorry." Yumichika could barely find his voice.

"Don't be sorry for me," Mendalo smiled kindly. "I've enjoyed every minute of it. I think you have, too. But it isn't what you really want. Yumichika . . . " He led him to sit in front of the fire. "If you love him – in whatever way you love him – you can find the strength to wait until he feels the same way. Or if he never crosses that bridge, then you'll find it in you to accept whatever kind of relationship he's able to offer. Or you'll find the strength to move on."

Mendalo had no idea how close to home his words were hitting.

"But you don't act the way you're speaking," Yumichika pointed out. "You're pretty casual about sex, so why—"

"I was casual about it . . . until I met you. And believe me, I might sound glib right now, but this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do." He paused. "But I can do it, because I've never felt about someone else the way you feel about Madarame. You went out and found Zaraki for him. You were willing to use your body to get that information – for him. You came here and joined the Gotei 13 to stay with him. You joined a squad that ill suits you. Who knows what else you've given up for him, but you've already done more for him than I would ever do for one man."

Yumichika felt a stab of regret. He knew precisely what he'd given up – or more accurately, whom he'd given up.

"So . . . what are you saying?" he asked at length.

Mendalo leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "I'm saying you need to decide if you're going to wait . . . faithfully. Or if you're ready to break free completely." Before Yumichika could answer, he went on. "I'll tell you what I _think_ you should do."

Yumichika regarded him expectantly.

"You should wait." Mendalo gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I can't believe I'm saying this. You're all I've been able to think about for the past year, and here I am telling you it's better for you if we stop being together." He shook his head. "But I can see it in your eyes now. Maybe it was always there, and I just chose to ignore it. There's someone else you're in love with, and you're waiting for him." A pause. "I think . . . you need to keep waiting – with no distractions."

Yumichika had not expected such sound counsel to come from the man who had been able to drive him to the heights of quivering bliss night after night for the past five months.

"I don't know what to say," he whispered.

"You don't have to say anything," Mendalo replied, easing the burden. "I understand, and I wouldn't have made the suggestion if I didn't mean it."

Yumichika wrapped his arms around Mendalo's waist and pressed his cheek into his shoulder. "Then this is our last night together."

Mendalo embraced him. "I'm afraid so."


	15. Chapter 15

_**Dear Reader, a couple notes about this chapter. Firstly, the Capchetans are not a real order. I mixed together the religious/philosophical teachings of several religious orders to come up with something that would work well in the story. Admittedly, I chose those facets of the various orders that I find most appealing, but it is not my intent to make any kind of moral or ethical argument for or against poverty, obedience and celibacy. Just part of the story! Second, I did steal from Saint Augustine in the remark, "Make me holy but not quite yet", which you will see in the chapter. Third, this chapter is meant to bring all characters to the point where we see them as they are at Ichigo's arrival in Soul Society (not that that event is coming any time soon). Ikkaku and Yumichika appear more as devoted friends than lovers, with Yumichika's devotion seeming to be the greater. Ruri'iro Kujaku is petulant and self-absorbed, estranged from but still obedient to his master. Only Hoozukimaru still has to come into his own with regard to Ikkaku. And finally, Part II of the story will not contain all the events of the manga or the anime. It will hit on a few points then close up, so I can get on to Part III, which is already mostly written. Peace and enjoy!**_

Chapter 15 Ikkaku

"_My brother, if you could cast a little light on someone, it's not too soon.  
__You left me way up in the clouds. The higher you fly, the less I see you.  
__So far across a wild and windy sea. So far, that our voices are divided by an ocean."_

_My Brother  
_Justin Hayward and John Lodge

* * *

Monday brought a cold spring morning to the Seireitei, but by the time Squad Eleven had flash-stepped the distance to Eighty-South, arriving late in the afternoon, the climate had changed to one of humid warmth. Being the first day of May, it wasn't hot; the summer swelter was at least a month away.

It was weather with which Yumichika was well familiar. He stood with the rest of the squad at the foot of the mountains on the other side of which lay Mito Village.

He had managed to make it through Saturday and Sunday without any significant contact with Ikkaku. The avoidance had been by design, for Yumichika needed to figure out what to do with the information Mendalo had told him.

He had spent the rest of Friday night in Mendalo's apartment, intent on relishing their final night together and yet torn by both the desire to continue his relationship with the swordsmith and the unnerving explanation of Ikkaku's markings. Saturday and Sunday he kept to his room, wracking his brain over what those markings would mean to his relationship with Ikkaku.

Ikkaku, a member of a religious order! A possible member. It was inconceivable. There was nothing holy, spiritual or religious about the man. Nothing. Yumichika had never had even the slightest inkling that Ikkaku believed in a deity, much less an inclination to serve that deity.

And yet Ikkaku had displayed some peculiar behavior in the past, not the least of which were his repeated rejections of Yumichika's sexual entreaties. There had been the evening in Mito, when Ikkaku had acted out of jealousy and admitted that he wanted to have Yumichika "just once"; that had ended in what could only be called a chaste kiss. Ikkaku had suddenly discovered that he needed nothing further to fulfill his desire. Then followed the night in the cottage above Venla, when Ikkaku had been unusually attentive and suggestive; but they'd only fallen asleep side-by-side. And the burst of eroticism in Maiweg's Orchard that had brought them to the brink, only to come to a screeching halt at Ikkaku's sudden refusal to engage in anything beyond. And the last memory . . . in Guckoo, when Yumichika had used his reiatsu to force Ikkaku to come after him. It had been a horrible moment of complete loss of emotional control, and if Ruri'iro Kujaku had not intervened, it would have resulted in a disaster that could not be undone.

Why had Ikkaku never followed through? Why did he always put up the barrier just short of the act?

"_No, it can't be true. It's impossible." _

And yet, what other explanation could there be? The two of them had been in intimate contact for years. Ikkaku was sensitive to his reiatsu. It had been Ikkaku who had told him that his reiatsu was erotic and seductive. And yet, the one man above all who should have been his lover . . . was not.

A celibate religious order . . .

Ikkaku had told him the markings on his eyes – the okibi – were to remind him of the world of the living. What memory was he trying to imprint on his body?

The other tattoo – the dokushin – Yumichika felt ashamed that in the months since leaving Guckoo, he had seen Ikkaku naked hundreds of time and never noticed whether he had the marking or not. He'd never looked, never paid attention. And it wasn't anything that had caught his eye.

"_What am I going to do? How do I talk to him about this? I have to find out the truth."_

"Captain Zaraki put me in charge of the assignments."

Ikkaku's voice jolted him back to the present, and he visibly startled.

But Ikkaku did not notice.

"So, I'm putting you on my team. Wherever you want to go, I'll be there beside you."

That might be good or it could be bad.

"I don't want you to make the assignments based on what might make me feel uncomfortable," Yumichika replied.

"And I don't want to be worried about you," Ikkaku said with a one-sided grin.

Yumichika returned a wan smile.

Ikkaku went on. "Because I get the feeling that you're going to choose Mito."

"Why do you think so?"

"I can feel it. You want to confront the memories," Ikkaku replied. "And when you do, I'm going to be there with you. There are a couple confrontations of my own I'd like to undertake."

Yumichika shook his head. "No, Ikkaku. We're here on patrol – not for me to face my past, not for you to get revenge. "

"So, you don't want to go to Mito?" He sounded surprised.

"No, I don't."

"Not even to see Kaekae?" Ikkaku prompted.

"Maybe on the last day," Yumichika replied. "I'll see how I feel. It will be . . . challenging enough just to be in this area. I used to do business in all these towns and villages."

Ikkaku accepted this. "So, where do you want to go?"

Yumichika looked almost embarrassed. "The roads."

"The roads?"

"I don't want to go into any settlements," Yumichika replied. "I can patrol the roadways."

Ikkaku nodded. He could hear the difficulty in Yumichika's voice, and although he himself had been hoping for the opportunity for some confrontations, he nodded his agreement. "Okay."

Ikkaku dispatched the squad, leaving the standard twenty-four men in his own detachment. He sent those twenty-four out in teams of four and five onto the roads, fanning out from the northern starting point with instructions to proceed southward for six days and return to this spot on the seventh day no later than midday.

The team composition left him and Yumichika as their own two-man patrol.

And so their journey began. They took a southeasterly direction, encountering only a handful of travellers each day – none of whom Yumichika recognized, and none of whom recognized him. Every settlement, village and town was dutifully skirted to the point where Ikkaku had to admit to himself that Yumichika had been serious about wanting to avoid contact with figures from his past.

Their conversation was sparse. Ikkaku was not normally given to being long-winded, and Yumichika—who was talkative by nature—was still too preoccupied with his own thoughts to initiate much discussion.

And so they travelled mostly in silence for the first four days, following the road that led them past Sendar and through the crevice pass with its high, narrow walls of rock and fast-running stream the color of emeralds. Emerging from the pass on the southern end, they found themselves at the foot a broad flood plain, perhaps a mile across, on the far side of which was the eastern most point of the Ulandsee.

"Do you want to stay on this road?" Ikkaku asked, knowing where it would lead.

Yumichika considered for a moment, answering with a nod.

Fifteen minutes of a leisurely walk brought them to a small crossroads; and without a word, they both took the road to their right. A short jaunt of 200 yards brought them to a familiar site, unchanged in twenty years. The reeds, still brown in the early days of Spring but with new shoots rising through the water's surface, were perfectly still in the quiet of the afternoon. The water was like glass, dark and opaque. The dirt road leading to the water's edge was still rutted, although it was clear attempts had been made to fill it in with dirt and rocks, much of which had washed away.

It even smelled the same.

"My road to freedom," Yumichika said unexpectedly.

"Yeah," Ikkaku agreed.

"It seems so long ago," Yumichika went on. "But I guess in Soul Society, there really is no way to define what a long time is."

"If it feels long ago to you, then it was long ago," Ikkaku stated. "To me, it feels like yesterday. Just standing here reminds me of . . . " He paused. "I felt so happy to have left Mito, but I was worried about you and whether or not you would . . . I still wasn't sure you were going to fully recover. I knew I wanted to get you to Venla, but I didn't know if you would survive the journey." He looked out over the calm water. "You really surprised me. That was before I knew about Fuji Kujaku and his ability to heal."

"Well, I can assure you, even then, he had his work cut out for him," Yumichika replied.

Ikkaku turned his gaze westward. Fifteen miles down the coast lay Mito. "Where do you want to go from here?"

"Let's go back to the main road. We can follow it south then pick up the coastal road towards Paikuu," Yumichika replied.

Ikkaku raised an eyebrow. "You want to go to Paikuu?"

"I want to see the meadow," Yumichika replied.

Ikkaku nodded. He should have guessed.

"If we flash step, we'll be there while there's still plenty of sunlight," Yumichika stated.

"Let's do it."

* * *

"Are you worried?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku glanced up at Hoozukimaru. The dragon had asked the question from where he sat on a low rocky outcropping just above the water's surface in the cave of the peacocks.

Ruri'iro had been admiring his image in the water. Now he raised his violet eye in consideration of his companion's question.

"No," he replied. "My master is too cowardly to dredge up old fears. And it's probably best that way. He won't do anything to cause himself discomfort. He'll avoid all those places where people might recognize him and bring back hurtful memories." He paused. "Besides, he's already dealing with something that means a lot more to him than visiting old haunts – namely, Madarame's sexual availability." He grimaced and made a sound of disgust.

Hoozukimaru gave a single nod. "Yeah, who would have thought?"

"Who would have thought? Well, you should have thought," Ruri'iro replied, as if it were obvious. "He's your master. How could you not have known about his—his . . . whatever you want to call it – his vows to a spiritual order?"

Hoozukimaru shrugged. "Look, I can't read my master's every thought the way you can read yours. I only get bits and pieces. I don't know if he really is a holy guy or not. If he were, it wouldn't bother me. But I'd be surprised."

"Wouldn't it be wonderful," Ruri'iro Kujaku enthused, "if the man my master is in love with is off-limits because of a vow of celibacy?" He laughed brightly. "It's almost too good to be true! A fitting revenge! Divine justice!"

Hoozukimaru shook his head with a grin. "You are one jealous bird."

"And what if I am?" Ruri'iro replied carelessly. "I have reason to be." A pause. "Besides, it's more than jealousy. Don't you see? If it's true and my master realizes that he'll never be able to have Madarame, maybe he will finally decide that it's time to leave and go back to a life of peace and quiet—"

"And you. A life where you're the center of his existence," Hoozukimaru interjected.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was aloof. "That goes without saying."

"What if he doesn't go back to a life of peace and quiet?" the dragon challenged. "What if he falls into despair and returns to the way he used to live?"

"I would never let that happen," the peacock replied with a cockiness that was undeniably genuine.

Hoozukimaru leapt down from the rock, landing squarely in front of Ruri'iro Kujaku. He leaned close. "You haven't done a very good job of taking care of him so far. What makes you think you'd do a better job if my master were out of the picture?"

Ruri'iro was not intimidated. "Haven't done a good job? He should be dead a dozen times over," he countered. "But he isn't, and that's because of me." He whirled around and sashayed a few steps. "And if it's true that he can't have Madarame the way he wants, then he'll return to me on his own. It won't be me pushing him. It will be his own decision."

"And what about us?" Hoozukimaru asked, reaching out, grabbing hold of the braid and yanking him backwards with enough force to bring the kujaku stumbling into his arms.

Ruri'iro looked up at him. "What about us? We already know our masters don't have to be together in order for you to come here."

And although Ruri'iro Kujaku's answer was honest and sincere, there was a detachment in its delivery that disturbed Hoozukimaru.

When the dragon spoke, his words surprised even himself.

"We're not meant to be apart."

Ruri'iro Kujaku stared at him without speaking.

"Whether it's the inner world or the outer world, we're not meant to be apart," Hoozukimaru elaborated. "And if we're not meant to be apart, then neither are our masters."

Ruri'iro Kujaku shook his head. "What makes you say that?"

"I can't explain it," Hoozukimaru replied. "I just know it's true."

"But I—"

"I've existed forever—from the moment my master's soul came into existence. Forever," Hoozukimaru explained. "I could hear his voice. I knew who he was, but I didn't come alive until I felt your existence."

"What?"

"It was as if I had being all along but no . . . life within me," Hoozukimaru explained. "I was with my master. I was aware of him, but only in passing. Then one day I felt it. The most amazing reiatsu reached into my master's soul, deep enough to touch me. I know now that it was you: you were trying to find him after he left the mountains. You used your reiatsu to reach out and find him. When you reached out and touched him, I found my voice for the first time."

"I—I don't—I don't think I had anything to do with that—"

"You did," Hoozukimaru insisted. "It was as if you breathed life into me. I knew, at that moment, that you existed, even though I had never seen you, even though I had only just come to life after an eternity of existence . . . I knew you were real."

"I . . . I don't . . . " Ruri'iro Kujaku stammered in confusion.

"You've existed forever, too," Hoozukimaru went on. "We all have. Isn't that what a soul is? Eternal? No beginning and no end? Always existing? Only needing to be awakened? Moving from silence to expression and back again? Over and over?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku actually felt humbled by the words coming from a creature he had truly believed to be his inferior in wit and wisdom. At the moment, he had to concede that he might have been misjudging Hoozukimaru all along.

"How do you know all those things?" he asked, a measure of awe and humility in his voice.

"I don't know," the dragon replied. "Sometimes I think that all the years I existed in sword form, without being awake, I was still . . . I absorbed what was around me."

"What was around you?"

Again, Hoozukimaru shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know."

But if Hoozukimaru were in the dark, Ruri'iro Kujaku was not. The words Hoozukimaru had spoken had been infused with knowledge, understanding and wisdom. They were the very sorts of words Ruri'iro Kujaku would have expected to hear coming from a holy man. If, as Hoozukimaru suspected, the words, the teaching, had been absorbed from the dragon's surroundings, it stood to reason that those surroundings had, in fact, been of a religious bent.

It seemed even more likely now that Madarame, indeed, had been a religious sort at one time or other.

That should have been cause for celebration, as far as Ruri'iro Kujaku was concerned; yet there was no sense of jubilation on the peacock's part, for the truth was that Hoozukimaru's words had also contained a strange and frightening prospect.

_It was as if you breathed life into me . . . _

That idea was absurd. Life was not Ruri'iro Kujaku's to give. He certainly had the ability to take life. But to give . . . ?

He could heal. He could heal his master. He could heal Madarame.

Could he heal others? How far did his ability to heal extend? Could he . . . _could he_ restore life?

It would be a power beyond reckoning.

He thought of the images in the shrine: images that came to life when he passed by. Entire scenes painted on the walls that turned into living vistas into which he could enter.

He pulled away from Hoozukimaru's warm embrace and stood trembling. Trembling with both fear and anticipation. Such a power would be god-like. It was tempting and terrifying.

"Impossible," he whispered, speaking only to himself.

"What's impossible?" Hoozukimaru asked.

"I—I didn't give you life—"

"I think you did—"

"That's ridiculous!" Ruri'iro Kujaku burst out. "I—I—that's not possible! I didn't create you!"

"I didn't say you created me," Hoozukimaru replied. "I already existed. But I came to life the moment your reiatsu touched me—"

"Stop it!" Ruri'iro Kujaku demanded. "What—what—what kind of power do you think I have?! I don't want that kind of—I don't want to be what you're describing! Where do you get an idea like that?!"

"If you can take spirit energy from others, robbing them of life, then why is it so hard to believe that you can give spirit energy, bringing them to life?" Hoozukimaru pressed. "It's just one step beyond healing."

"It's not just one step beyond healing!" Ruri'iro Kujaku protested. "It's way beyond that!"

Hoozukimaru crossed his arms over his chest. "I know what I felt. Maybe you have the power; maybe you don't. I would have thought that someone with as much pride as you have would like the idea of being able to bring things to life."

"Well, I don't," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied, and he was only partially truthful; for while he found the possibility tantalizing, he also wondered if such a power even existed; and if it were his, was it something he would be able to tame and master?

"You're shaking," Hoozukimaru observed. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid," the indignant peacock shot back. "I'm shaking with anger – that you would suggest such a stupid thing."

But Hoozukimaru was not fooled – not for an instant. He knew only too well that Ruri'iro Kujaku's egotism knew no bounds, that the idea of imparting life was every bit as appealing, if not more so, than taking it.

A sly, knowing grin stretched across the dragon's face. "Fine, fine. Then we'll just leave it at stupid," he said wryly. "But if you want a reason to be mad, at least make it a real one!"

With the last word, he lunged at Ruri'iro Kujaku, plowing to the ground on top of him.

"What—what was that for?!" the enraged Kujaku shrieked.

"If you're going to be mad, be mad because you're such a weakling," the dragon teased, bearing his full weight down on top of him, anxious to goad him into a spar.

As a ploy, it worked; but not in the way of the physical match for which Hoozukimaru had been hoping.

Beneath him, Ruri'iro Kujaku smiled slightly. His right hand was still free and able to reach the hilt of his sword. He didn't need to draw. He needed only to utter the words.

"Sakikurue."

Hoozukimaru felt the warm tingle of the kujaku's power as it rose steam-like from his body to caress and envelop, so different from the vines that grappled and ensnared. It was a feeling Hoozukimaru had come to relish.

"You're a master seducer," the dragon stated.

"_The_ master seducer," came the quick response. "But I don't hear you complaining."

"What's to complain about?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku smiled. Such a companion he could never have warranted in a thousand lifetimes. It occurred to him at that moment that not everything of value had to be earned. Some gifts were freely given.

* * *

"Wow. It feels like it was just yesterday," Ikkaku said, his breath audible beneath the words.

Yumichika could not disagree more. "To you, maybe. To me, it feels like a lifetime ago." He took a few steps into the sundrenched meadow. "So much has happened since I lived here."

In his mind's eye, he could see Rangiku as she had appeared all those years ago, gentle and yet full of energy, bringing him to this place, assuring him that everything would be alright now that he was in Soul Society. And things had been "alright" for many years. Then he had taken that first step, that first misuse of his beauty. The first abuse of a gifted reiatsu. That first moment of indiscretion was his original sin, and it had led to more and more sins, each greater than the ones preceding it. He had been atoning for those transgressions ever since.

He walked across the meadow to the ruins of his old dwelling, more overgrown now but still ripe with memories. Incredibly, however, the memories did not direct his mind towards events that had happened here.

"This place makes me think of Venla," he stated quietly.

Ikkaku, standing several yards off, felt a brief flash of guilt, for he knew that Yumichika had never truly let go of the cottage in the mountains and the life lived therein. "Yeah, it—it looks a lot like it."

Yumichika smiled and turned to face him. "Do you remember when you took me there for the first time? I thought we were leaving Venla, and you had the idea to live in that meadow all along."

"Yeah."

"Do you ever miss it, Ikkaku?"

Ikkaku felt as if he had been trapped. How was he to answer the question. Did he even know the answer? He hadn't thought once about Venla since discovering Zaraki, except as it related to Yumichika. The idea of returning had never entered his mind.

"I, uh, I miss some of the good times we had there," he replied. "I miss the people."

"But you . . . you would never want to go back," Yumichika surmised.

Ikkaku could not lie to him. "No."

Yumichika accepted this with a minute nod. He turned and walked a short stretch along the woodline before taking a deep, resolute breath. "I've seen enough." He headed towards the path that led down to the water. "I could use a dip. I'm filthy. We can spend the night in one of the boat houses."

"A dip? That water's going to be freezing," Ikkaku warned.

"I prefer to think of it as refreshing," Yumichika replied. "And if you don't mind me saying so, we _both_ need a bit of freshening up."

Ikkaku had been right.

The water was freezing. But that was of no concern. Yumichika only needed a few seconds in the chill to complete the ruse. Getting Ikkaku into the water was a more difficult task, but with enough cajoling and carefully placed insults, he managed it.

And this had been his intent all along.

He needed to know. He _needed_ to know.

He came out of the water first and stood on the shore, drying himself off and waiting for Ikkaku to finish the splash-fest that somehow qualified as bathing.

When Ikkaku came up from the lake, Yumichika made sure to look. He didn't care how blatant he was.

And he saw it. For the first time, he saw it. A fine-lined design, not easily perceptible to anyone not searching for it. But to the penetrating eye, it was unmistakable. The Dokushin.

Yumichika's heart began to race.

" _. . . to remind them of their vows . . . celibacy . . . "_

Yumichika felt the warmth flood into his face. He lowered his eyes to focus intently, unnaturally, on putting on his own clothes as Ikkaku got dressed. How was going to broach this subject? Or should he? It could mean the end of his friendship with Ikkaku. Or it might finally be the shedding of light on some of the more puzzling aspects of Ikkaku's personality. Whatever the outcome, Yumichika knew that he could not delay any longer. Out here, away from the rest of the squad, away from the activity of the Seireitei, this was the time and place to find out the truth of Ikkaku's past.

"It's cooling off," Ikkaku observed. "We should find a place for the night."

"There's a boathouse just down the shoreline a mile or so," Yumichika replied. "We can stay there."

They chose to walk along the woodland path that ran parallel to the shore, just inside the treeline. The sounds of the woods were so familiar to Yumichika's ears that they soothed his troubled thoughts and gave him the courage to pursue the course he was about to take. And he needed that fortitude, for he was quite certain that Ikkaku was not going to be warm to the topic.

They came to the boathouse, still a sturdy structure even twenty years later. Adjacent to it on the shore was a small single room stone building with one narrow window, the shutter on which hung askew on one rusted hinge.

"It looks abandoned," Ikkaku noted. He peered into the boathouse. "It's empty. There's no boat."

"I don't know about now, but in the past, it was only used in the summer to bring hunting parties in," Yumichika explained. "But it looks like that might not even be the case anymore. The boat keeper's house is pretty derelict." A pause. "But it's dry, and with a fire, it will be warm."

There was still kindling piled up in one corner of the room, and Yumichika used this to start a fire in the tiny fire place.

"There. It's a small room, so—" He cut off as he turned to find himself alone. Moving to stand at the doorway, he saw Ikkaku standing on the shore, looking out over the water.

He went to join him.

"I'd forgotten how beautiful the sunsets here were," Ikkaku said.

"Yes, they are," Yumichika agreed.

"One of the few things worth remembering," Ikkaku went on.

"There were other things, as well," Yumichika said.

"Yeah," Ikkaku grimaced, "But the bad outweigh the good."

"That may be true, but I would never disregard the good just because of the bad," Yumichika countered.

Ikkaku made a scoffing sound but said nothing.

Several minutes passed as the sun sank lower, shooting the sky through with red and orange and pink, coloring the mountains a purplish hue, casting the water as a mirror of the fiery sky.

Yumichika drew in a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any.

"When did you get that other tattoo?"

Ikkaku looked at him with a degree of puzzlement. "What other tattoo?"

"The one below your waist."

Ikkaku was taken aback. "How—how do you know about that?"

Yumichika looked at him dubiously. "I see you naked all the time, Ikkaku. But to be honest, I didn't notice until today when you came out of the water. So, when did you get it?"

"Oh, back in Guckoo," Ikkaku replied with feigned carelessness.

"It must have been painful," Yumichika noted.

"You have no idea," Ikkaku agreed.

"So, why did you get it? I mean, that's not a normal place for a tattoo," Yumichika said, creating an opening for Ikkaku to explain.

"I don't know," Ikkaku replied, and he was starting to feel that these questions were not mere curiosity. "I just wanted to do it."

Yumichika pretended to accept this. "So, what does it mean?"

Ikkaku smirked. "It means you shouldn't get drunk around a tattoo parlor."

"So, you _didn't_ want it?"

"Yes, I wanted it—"

"You just said you got it because you were drunk—"

Ikkaku faced Yumichika with a flare in his eye. "Look, I got it, so what the hell difference does it make?"

Yumichika hesitated only a moment. "It's the Dokushin, isn't it?"

Ikkaku froze, staring at him in silence.

"And the markings on your eyes . . . they're called the Okibi," Yumichika went on. "Am I right? They're the markings of a religious order."

Ikkaku needed several seconds to overcome his initial shock, but when he found his voice, he managed to sound nonchalant and dismissive. "Who did you hear that from?"

"It's just something I overheard. Is it true?"

Ikkaku crossed his arms and feigned condescension. "Do you think I'm a member of a religious order, Yumichika?" he asked in a manner that conveyed his own opinion of preposterous such an idea was.

"I don't know. I'm asking."

"What order would have me?"

Yumichika hesitated. "The Capchetans."

Ikkaku narrowed his eyes. Clearly, the game was up. "This is more than something you overheard. Who told you about the Capchetans? Was it Mendalo?"

"I'm not answering any of your questions until you answer mine. Are you a member of a religious order?" Yumichika replied stubbornly.

"If I were?"

"Then it would greatly diminish my respect for that order."

"You little—"

Yumichika cut him off. "You're not a man of peace or contemplation. You have trouble with discipline and obedience. And you're the one who just asked what order would have you. It's a good question. So, if you're not a Capchetan, why do you were the Okibi and the Dokushin?"

Ikkaku's jaw was working. "Maybe I just like the way they look," he replied testily.

Yumichika would not be dissuaded by his manner. He looked at him with gravity. "Ikkaku, are you a Capchetan?"

Ikkaku stared at him but did not speak. His silence stretched on for many seconds, and Yumichika was about to ask the question again, when finally Ikkaku, turning away, replied quietly, "No."

Yumichika wasn't sure whether to feel relief or not. His own emotions were muddled and confused. "Are you a member of any religious order?"

"No."

It rankled Yumichika that he was getting one-word answers with no explanation. If he had to be the inquisitor in order to draw out the entire story, then he would do so. "Were you at one time?"

Ikkaku shook his head. "Never." The bitterness in his voice was barely perceptible, but to Yumichika, it was unmistakable.

"Then I don't understand," Yumichika said plaintively. "Why do you wear those symbols when you were never part of an order?"

Ikkaku heaved in a deep breath and took a few steps along the shore. He still kept his gaze averted, but now he seemed to be looking not simply away, but at something: a distant recollection, a memory. He picked up a small stone, considered tossing it into the water, then dropped it back on the ground. At last, he spoke in a still voice. "Have you ever wanted something that you couldn't have?"

Yumichika was stunned by this question, especially considering its relevance to their own relationship. He found it ironic that Ikkaku would ask such a thing when he must be well aware of the answer already.

"Of course," he answered evenly.

"Not because it was withheld from you, but because . . . because of your own limitations," Ikkaku went on.

"Well, I—I suppose so," Yumichika replied, not really sure what the question meant.

Ikkaku chose his words carefully. "I wear these markings as a . . . I guess you could call it a tribute to an ideal." He paused. "And to the men who lived that ideal." His sigh was rife with self-recrimination. "An ideal I could never attain."

Suddenly, Yumichika understood. "You wanted to be a Capchetan."

"I think . . . now, when I look back, I think . . . yeah, I wanted it more than anything," Ikkaku replied. A pained look came into his expression. "But I didn't have the self-discipline. I looked at those monks and I wanted . . . I wanted to be like them, to have their peace and their conviction. But I didn't have the courage. I wasn't strong enough to give up the things that separated me from the life they lived, the life I wanted." He shook his head. "I—I loved them. They were the only ones I ever loved. They weren't my friends. They weren't my . . . my peers. They were so far above me that I . . . I thought, I'll never reach them." His shoulders sunk under the weight of his words. "And I was right."

Yumichika considered going to him, offering the touch of comfort; but somehow, he knew that it would not be welcome or appreciated under the circumstances. Instead, he sat down on a piece of driftwood and spoke with a strange sort of acquiescent authority.

"Maybe it's time you told me about your life in the world of the living. You know mine. I'd like to know about yours."

Ikkaku hunched his shoulders. "It's not something I like to remember."

"Sometimes it helps to face the past," Yumichika offered.

Ikkaku cast him a mild glance. "You're not facing yours, and we're right here in the middle of it."

Yumichika conceded his point with a tilt of the head. "I'm not ready." A pause. "But I think you are."

After another long silence, Ikkaku began speaking, all the while keeping his gaze directed out to the horizon and the setting sun.

"You already know about my father. You know he didn't want me around. Neither did his wife. Or my mother. I . . . I can count on one hand the number of times I saw my mother growing up. I was sent to all kinds of places just to get me out of the way. Distant relatives. Boarding schools. Monasteries. And if I started to enjoy them, my father would come in and pull me out. He sent me away not just to get rid of me, but he—he wanted me to be miserable everywhere I went. After getting yanked out of places and away from new friends a few times, I began to catch on. It became dangerous to feel anything good towards anyone or anyplace. I ended up hating everywhere I went, and they ended up hating me. And I was still just a kid." He turned slowly to regard Yumichika with an impassive expression that could not mask the hurt of the words he next spoke. "It's amazing what being unwanted can do to a person. I decided that if no one wanted me, then I would want no one. In truth, I went one step further. I decided that I would hate everyone. And if I couldn't belong in one place, I would belong nowhere. I spent my entire life trying to find places where I didn't belong. I . . . my only enjoyment was feeding my hatred, and that grew into physical confrontations. The only time—" His voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard. "There was one exception. When I was twelve, my father sent me to live with the Capchetans. They had a monastery in the mountains at least a week's travel from where my father lived. I didn't want to go. By then, I just wanted to go out on my own and do as I pleased. I'd been kicked out of at least two monasteries already, and I figured this one wouldn't be any different." A pause. "But it was. These men . . . these men had something inside them. No matter how much trouble I caused them, no matter how rude or belligerent I acted, I couldn't rattle them. They were strict—damn, they were strict. They took their vows seriously, and because they believed god was present in their midst, they demanded that I act with proper respect and reverence. But I didn't believe. Not in god anyway. But I did start to admire them for their discipline. They lived simple lives and devoted themselves to prayer and the arts of combat, healing, meditation . . . the welfare of the poor and . . . they were the most peaceful men I'd ever met." His hand slid unthinkingly to the hilt of his sword. "And the most deadly, if it came to it." A wistful shadow of a smile formed on the corner of his mouth. "I wanted to be just like them. But I couldn't. I tried. I tried to believe. I tried to be obedient. I tried to meditate and pray and be at peace, but . . . " The smile widened with memory. "Brother Hakama, my mentor, used to say that I was like one of the great ancient mystics who used to say, _Lord, make me holy but not quite yet._ I kept hoping that one day I'd be ready to let go of the things holding me back. It was a fool's hope." He looked at Yumichika, who was listening with rapt attention. He walked to stand in front of him. "It was Hakama who gave me my sword," he went on, drawing the blade from its sheath. "He'd had it in his room the whole time I was there, but he never used it. He told me how it had come to him down through the ages, and how it was meant for me." He looked at the metal glowing red in the sunset. "I'm sure now that even then he knew it was a zanpakuto. My zanpakuto. He was that amazing. He was my teacher in every way that mattered. But even so, he knew—he knew I wasn't cut out to be a Capchetan. And when I turned sixteen, he made me leave the monastery. I wasn't angry at him. I couldn't be. He was right. I wasn't suited to the life of a monk, even a warrior monk.

"After I left, I made my way as a mercenary, fighting for whoever would have me," he went on. "I didn't even care about the money. I just wanted to use the fighting skills I'd learned at the monastery. It was the only thing I took with me. I didn't discipline myself in any other way. I didn't pray or fast or care for anyone else. I didn't meditate. I didn't try to perfect my mind. Without the brothers around to push me, I lost what little discipline I'd gained over my four years with them. And sure enough, without forced obedience, I began to indulge my hatreds again."

He stopped talking and poked the tip of his sword into the soft ground of the shore. "Until one day, I killed a man out of anger. I just . . . killed him. It was over something stupid, a remark he made about my line of work. It started out as just another confrontation, one of thousands I'd had over the years. And then it got out of control, and something in my blood just took over and I killed him. His death seemed pointless to me. It was a foolish way to die because, at that time, there was a war going on. If a man was going to die, better to die in battle than in a roadside skirmish away from the fields of war.

"I didn't feel guilty about it. I hadn't felt anything like guilt in years. But it bothered me that if I'd been the one to die, I would have thrown my life away for something that wasn't even a challenge. I decided then and there that I wanted to go to the war. I tried to join the fighting forces – on either side. But neither would have me. They both decided that I was too stubborn and likely to cause dissent in the ranks. My skill meant nothing to them. They only wanted obedience and discipline. I had neither. But I knew the Brothers would soon be joining in the fighting, so I went back to the monastery to see Hakama, with the hope that I could go into battle with them. But they wouldn't take me. Hakama wanted me to use my fighting skills as part of a household guard. He was so kind and so reasonable, and maybe I should have listened to him; but I just—I didn't want a peaceful, comfortable life. I wanted conflict. I wanted violence. And after being turned down to go to war with the Brothers, I felt more alone than I ever had before. So, I went to war anyway. On my own. I fought in every battle I could find. I fought men on both sides. I didn't care." Now, he drove the tip of his sword into the ground where it stood casting a long shadow in the last of the sun's rays. "And I haven't cared since. I haven't cared who I fought, who I killed."

"What happened when you went to war?" Yumichika asked, his voice barely more than a breath.

"What happened? What do you think happened? I died." The color was high in his face as he sought to maintain control. "One day short of my thirtieth birthday, some . . . nobody, some insignificant worm rammed his sword right through my heart – literally. And then it was over. Just like that. I died in an instant. Just like that . . . just like that. One second I was alive and fighting and having the time of my life; the next I was standing there looking at my dead body, and there was this . . . chain attached to my chest." He fell silent for a moment, his face like stone. "For days afterwards, casualty teams came from both sides to bury the dead. But survivors on each side recognized me. The only peace they ever had between them was in the agreement that I didn't deserve a burial." His eyes were as cold as a fall rain. "I waited there for days, watching them take care of every other body. The ones they didn't know or couldn't recognize went into one mass grave. But not mine." He raised his eyes only briefly to look at Yumichika. "My body was left to rot in the same place where I had fallen. " As he looked away, his voice broke. "Not a single person to grieve for me or—or even bury me." A single tear strayed down his cheek before he drew up straight and held up a hand to stop Yumichika from approaching. "It was true what the Brothers taught me: the way we live our lives determines how we die and our place in the next life. Knowing how I had lived, I wasn't eager to come to Soul Society. Not only that, but I wanted revenge. I wanted revenge on all the people who had . . . had treated me like shit through my entire life, from my father to the man who killed me to the ones who refused to bury me. And the chain attached to my chest became heavier and heavier. I actually . . . " He closed his eyes. "There was a time when I actually wanted to become a hollow so that I could get my revenge." He looked up again to face Yumichika. "So, you can understand that when at last a Soul Reaper came and found me, I was already pretty far gone and I had no desire to go to Soul Society. I fought him every step of the way, but he finally defeated me. Then he performed a konso, and the next thing I knew, I was here in Soul Society. Still alone. Still unwanted. And even more angry and hostile than I'd been in the world of the living." He paused and withdrew his sword from the ground, wiped the tip and returned it to its scabbard. "You can't understand it, Yumichika, because you were wanted in life. You were always loved and—"

"By my family," Yumichika interrupted. "Society didn't want me or love me. I was flawed and burdensome to them. But—but just because something is unwanted doesn't mean it doesn't have value."

"I know that now; but at the time, I couldn't see it," Ikkaku replied. "And for most of my life here, I couldn't see it either. All I knew was that I felt cheated and angry and bitter." A pause. "And I'd still be that way if it weren't for Kenpachi Zaraki. He replaced the Capchetans as my ideal."

Yumichika could not help but feel slighted by this last bit, but it was easily overlooked in the context of what he was hearing.

"But if you never became a Capchetan, and you didn't get the markings until you came to Soul Society, what—what made you do it?" he asked.

Ikkaku considered. "I'm not sure," he admitted at last. "When I left Venla, I tried to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. I told myself I was doing it to protect you. But there was always some nagging guilt in my head. I needed something to ease my conscience, and then one day in Guckoo, when I was working at the shipyard, I ran into a soul who used to be at the monastery. His name was Kufu, and in the world of the living, he'd been a simpleton; but here in Soul Society, he had . . . it's hard to explain. He had a certain wisdom, and talking to him made me feel like I still had a shot at fulfilling the vows of being a Capchetan. And in some stupid way, I thought if I had the markings, they would be enough to remind me of Hakama and keep me on the straight and narrow. But once again, I failed miserably." He sighed. "I'd still be trying and failing to live up to those ideals if I hadn't found a new teacher in Captain Zaraki."

"And . . . and did those ideals . . . what did those ideals include?" Yumichika fumbled.

"Everything I just talked about – service to god and others. Prayer, study, honing skills as a warrior," Ikkaku replied.

"Celibacy?"

The word caught Ikkaku off-guard, but he recovered quickly. "That was always the easiest part."

"Until you met me," Yumichika put forth.

Ikkaku sighed. "Yeah, but not for the reasons you think."

At Yumichika's look of silent inquiry, Ikkaku went on. "Yumichika, you know you have a power that nobody can resist. If you have your sights set on someone, you're going to prevail. I'm no exception to that. But whereas I've failed in every other aspect of being a Capchetan, the one area where I've been able to stand firm is the one area where you could break me in an instant. Yet, in all the years we've been together, it's never happened. I've come close – not only with you, but with Pakkay; but every time something intervenes. And I . . . I like to think that it's my own will that insists on holding onto this one last vestige of my time with the Capchetans, the one last piece of the ideal I strove after for so long."

"So, I'll always be a temptation for you to overcome," Yumichika said solemnly.

"Yes," Ikkaku admitted. "But you're more than that. You're probably the only one in Soul Society who will always accept me no matter what I am or what I do."

"What about Captain Zaraki?"

"I'm not an idiot," Ikkaku replied. "I know that if I ever became unable to fight, the captain would toss me out without a second thought or regret." He paused. "Which is another reason why I admire him so much. He doesn't let his feelings get in the way."

Yumichika nodded slightly, unsure of what else to say.

Ikkaku, sensing his companion's disquiet, sought to ease his mind. "And I've let my feelings get in the way for too long. All the years of anger and hatred and a lust for violence . . . I can put those behind me with Captain Zaraki and fight for the sheer joy of it." He put his hands on Yumichika's shoulders. "Don't you see? I can finally create my own ideal."

"What about your feelings for me?" Yumichika asked.

Ikkaku sighed. "I know they're not what you wish they were," he conceded. "But . . . if it's the best I can give you, is that . . . is that enough?"

Considering everything he had just heard, Yumichika realized how remarkable it was that Ikkaku had somehow stumbled into their friendship to begin with. Even in Squad Eleven, Ikkaku was a man much alone in Soul Society – certainly more alone than Yumichika. And no surprise why: the lingering flotsam of so many years of rejection had left a mark not easily erased, if ever.

To even be thinking in terms of a sexual relationship seemed callous and immature now. Instead, Yumichika determined on a new course of conduct.

From this day forward, he would be the steadiest and most devoted friend he could to a man who might never be able to give him what he so deeply desired; but wasn't that what true love was all about?

Giving of self without any expectation of a return?


	16. Chapter 16

Dear Reader, I am sorry to have taken so long. This chapter was very hard to write, as I am trying to tie up some loose ends very quickly before moving on to the next part of the story. But it's a long chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. I'm showing a bit of my eastern USA roots here! Also, the quasi-religious aspects are sort of mixture of all kinds of religions, since I don't think Soul Society fits neatly into any religious philosophy! Peace, TK

* * *

Chapter 16 The Lucky Bastard

"_Strangers in the darkness,  
__Just passing through.  
Now that I've found you,  
__I realize what I've got to do."_

_The Western Sky  
_Justin Hayward

Yumichika was smiling before even opening his eyes.

He hadn't expected it after everything Ikkaku had told him yesterday. Hadn't expected to find Ikkaku's arm draped across him in the hour before sunrise. They had fallen asleep fully clothed next to each other but not touching; and in truth, Yumichika had wondered if they would ever be able to share any of kind of physical contact again.

But the heaviness of Ikkaku's arm atop his chest told him that whatever concerns Ikkaku might have were not able to penetrate the uninhibited depths of sleep, and habit had prevailed.

Yumichika turned his head, but where he had anticipated the face of a sleeping man, instead he encountered open eyes and an unreadable gaze.

"I was awake before you. How 'bout that?" Ikkaku said quietly.

Yumichika grinned. "Don't make it a habit. You'd throw my entire world into disorder."

"Well, the truth is I didn't go to sleep at all last night," Ikkaku confessed.

"Oh?"

"No," Ikkaku confirmed. He glanced away in an uncharacteristically self-conscious manner. "I couldn't stop thinking about all the things I told you. And I wondered . . . I wonder if your opinion of me has changed."

Yumichika was thoughtful. "Yes, it's changed, but not for the worse." A pause. "I was surprised, but . . . in a strange way, it—it came as relief. And an embarrassment." He rolled onto his side and faced him in the darkness. "I couldn't figure out why you didn't want me. Now that I know the truth, I feel ashamed of the things I did to you."

"You didn't do anything to me, Yumichika," Ikkaku replied. "We both made mistakes, but you had no way of knowing. I didn't want to say anything. I wanted to keep my past to myself. But now I'm glad I told you."

"So am I."

After a pause, Ikkaku added, "And it's not that I didn't want you. There probably isn't a soul in existence that doesn't want you. But I . . . some part of me still holds onto what was once my greatest dream."

"Are you sure it isn't still your greatest dream?" Yumichika asked solemnly.

Ikkaku considered for a moment. "Maybe it is. I don't know. It's like you said, I'm not really cut out for the life of a holy man, and well . . . the order doesn't exist here."

Yumichika could hear the dissatisfaction with this answer in Ikkaku's voice. It was a kind of open wound that, while not debilitating, was painful enough to cause its bearer distress. Yumichika now wondered if this unfulfilled desire for holiness was the greater reason behind Ikkaku's belligerence, as opposed to the grief his father had put him through.

"Have you ever met any souls here who were Capchetins?" he asked.

"Not a single one," Ikkaku replied, then with a wistful smile, added, "I've always imagined that there was some part of Soul Society, the best part, that was reserved for men like them."

"I suppose that's possible," Yumichika replied. "Maybe in the king's realm."

Ikkaku was silent for several seconds before saying, "You can never tell anyone about this, Yumichika."

"I won't," Yumichika replied. "I give you my word."

Another long silence ensued, then Ikkaku spoke earnestly. "You're probably sorry you stuck with me now."

Yumichika smiled gently. "No," he replied. "Ikkaku, I didn't stay with you all these years for sexual reasons. I mean, that wasn't a factor at all. I stayed—I followed you from Venla—because I wanted to be with you. There are no other motives."

Ikkaku shook his head. "I'll never understand it."

"You don't have to," Yumichika allowed. "I'm not sure I even understand it myself. But not understanding something doesn't make it any less real."

Content that they had come to a sort of tacit arrangement, Ikkaku sat up and stretched. There was a slight morning chill in the air, but it was invigorating. "Do you want to go into Paikuu? See Imakao, maybe?" he asked.

Yumichika sat up as well. "Imakao . . . "

"You know, I never told you, but I saw him when I first arrived in Guckoo. He was there on business," Ikkaku stated, adding with a chuckle, "And pleasure. I think the guy can't help but mix the two."

"Really? Was he well?" Yumichika asked.

"Very well," Ikkaku replied. "He asked about you. He couldn't believe that we—that we weren't together."

"You mean he couldn't believe that you had left me," Yumichika supposed.

"Yeah," Ikkaku conceded. "I'm willing to bet he still misses you."

Yumichika sat is thoughtful silence for a moment, then admitted, "I miss him, too. And Kai and Hikei, the two house servants who cared for me. But I'm just not ready to go into Paikuu."

"Do you want to see Kaekae?"

Again, Yumichika faltered. "I want to see him, but I can't go there. I know I sound like a coward, but I don't want to see those places again yet. This place is different, but Mito and Paikuu . . . I just can't do it yet, Ikkaku. I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing to me for? I have no burning desire to see any of it, unless it comes with permission to beat the daylights out of Hinsamoi and—"

"Don't say that name," Yumichika interrupted. "Don't mention any of them."

Ikkaku looked at him in the brightening darkness. "I didn't realize you were still so affected by it all. It's been so long since then, and you've—to look at you, it's like nothing ever happened."

"I had to bury it a long time ago," Yumichika replied quietly. "But it's still there. It still surfaces from time to time, when something sparks my memory." He got to his feet and held out a hand to Ikkaku. "Maybe one day I'll be able to go back to all the old places, but I won't be disappointed if that never happens."

Ikkaku accepted his hand and was surprised at the strength that sprung him to his feet. "Neither will I."

They walked outside into the heavy coolness of the moment before dawn.

Before stepping off, Ikkaku looked out over the calm sea and took one last risk. "All the promises I had made to you in the past, all the promises I broke . . . can we start over?"

"I've never kept score, Ikkaku," Yumichika replied.

"But I have."

Yumichika gave a slight nod. "Then if it makes you feel better, yes . . . we can start over."

And he meant it, for in his heart he had already come to the same conclusion the night before.

* * *

Two days later, Squad Eleven was back in the Seireitei, having completed an uneventful patrol. They had three days off and then it was back to training, with their rotation to the living world coming up at the end of July. It was definitely something Yumichika was looking forward to – his first time back to the living world since his death. But a lot of time and effort had to go into preparing first-timers for their maiden mission to claim wandering souls. Forays into the living world were the most difficult and dangerous of all missions, but they also required the greatest compassion and sensitivity. Not exactly the sort of thing Squad Eleven excelled at.

For Yumichika, the preparation was a time of excitement and anticipation, which was good, considering that he needed something to distract his thoughts from recent revelations, not to mention an overwhelming desire to seek out Mendalo. He missed the jovial and passionate companionship of his erstwhile lover; but he was taking the swordsmith's words to heart and focusing all his energies on being the best friend he could to Ikkaku . . .

He sought out the company of Rangiku, who was always ready for a fun time. And he continued to sit for instruction with Captain Ukitake. At the Squad Thirteen captain's recommendation, the training abandoned jinzen and focused more on the other facets of being a Shinigami. In fact, Yumichika had not even attempted to enter his inner world since the last disastrous encounter in the shrine. Ruri'iro Kujaku was the last person he wanted to see.

On the other hand, Ikkaku could not spend enough time with his zanpakuto; and this zeal was manifesting itself in the rapid improvement of his skills, as well as in his ability to communicate with the weapon's spirit. Every day they trained. No sooner did Ikkaku's duty day end than he would summon Iba and enter into his inner world. The truth was he did not need Iba's help to enter his world, but given the increasingly brutal nature of the encounters between him and his zanpakuto, he thought it a good idea to have an experienced Shinigami on hand in case things spiraled out of control.

But such a spiral never occurred, and Ikkaku found himself drawing closer and closer to his zanpakuto. He pressed hard and often for the dragon's name, but it was clear he would have to win that knowledge through a defeat of his opponent; and while that event seemed more likely now than before, it still was nowhere near happening.

And so July ebbed on slowly in the languid heat, long torpid days followed by energized nights, until at last the day came when Squad Eleven was to venture into the world of the living. The squad's area of responsibility would be the northern hemisphere, while Squad Three would take the southern hemisphere.

They went through a senkaimon , a door between the living world and Soul Society on the last Saturday in July just as the sun was rising. The great door opened in the sky above an enormous city, still mostly asleep in the early dawn. Even so, the spirit energy of hundreds of thousands of people filled the air, sending a tingle up Yumichika's spine as he emerged into the dimensionless space where soul met firmament.

"How will we ever find a soul that needs help?" he asked quietly, not directing the question to anyone in particular.

In front of him, Lieutenant Kusajishi turned and beamed a closed-eye smile at him. "_You'll_ be able to find them easy!" Then, opening one eye, she looked at Ikkaku. "You're too scary to find anyone. They'll run from you."

"Hey!" Ikkaku protested, but then he realized he actually liked the sound of being scary. "Well—good, that will keep the hollows away, too."

"You'd better leave the hollows to Kenny," Yachiru warned. "He likes to fight."

Ikkaku rolled his eyes but kept his silence.

The squad members had received their assignments prior to leaving Soul Society, and now they began departing for their own patrol zones.

Yumichika and Ikkaku had been paired up with Iba, whose experience in the living world was considered necessary for their first venture.

Right away, Yumichika noticed that Ikkaku and Iba had a certain affinity for each other that was almost uncanny. The two of them had a not-subtle-at-all competition as to who was more manly, more bold, more daring. It was quite humorous to observe, from the flexing of muscle to the frequent crossing of swords, to the boasts about their respective zanpakuto, despite the fact that Ikkaku didn't even the name of his own weapon.

Yumichika found himself appreciating the new fourth seat more and more with each passing day. Listening to Iba explain the intersection of the different planes of existence was fascinating and particularly useful, since it was often difficult to remember that although the living world appeared in all its fullness to the Shinigami, the Shinigami were, in fact, invisible and intangible to the living world. The inanimate world – the buildings, the ground, the streets – these were all part of the firmament of both worlds. But the souls that inhabited the living world were mere specters to the Shinigami.

And the rules of physics that applied to the living world did not have the same constraints upon the Shinigami, who were able to perch in midair and observe what was below. They were able to obtain a manner of motion close to flying, although it truth it was nothing more than a variation of flashstep.

Iba also taught his charges how to identify the difference between _Pluses _and _Jibakurei_ – the two most common kinds of souls inhabiting the living world. Both types sported a chain over their hearts, and once that chain was severed from the body, it meant there was no chance of the soul returning to its former physical home. The _Pluses_ were souls with no misgivings, easily dispatched to Soul Society by means of a _konso_. But a soul whose heart was chained to the living world would eventually see the fester and ailment of that heart; these were the _Jibakurei._ Their situations were deemed critical, for regret, jealousy and anger would eat away at such a heart until a hole formed where the heart used to be. Ultimately, the entire soul would become hollow – a mere shell of its former self, acting upon instinct – and if the instincts in life had been oriented towards wickedness, so were its instincts as a hollow.

Even so, such a soul could still be dispatched. That was one of the uses of a zanpakuto. Properly applied and given enough strength, a zanpakuto's blade had the ability to release a hollow from its tortured form and allow it to pass on to its next destination: Soul Society if its acts in life had been good; Hell if its acts in life had been evil.

Still, the main goal of the forays to the living world was to prevent the need for such a use; for if a soul were sent to Soul Society before succumbing to hollowfication, then the danger of confronting the demented soul could be avoided.

"But it doesn't make any sense," Ikkaku grumbled, shaking his head one afternoon as Iba explained the movement of souls back and forth between Soul Society and the living world. The three Shinigami were sitting on the top of a strange, ball-shaped structure out in the middle of a great forest, with no other buildings around and only a single dirt roadway leading to the sphere. Iba had explained that it was an observatory and housed the instruments used to study the stars. "If bad souls are supposed to go to hell, then how do so many of them end up in Soul Society?"

Beside him, Yumichika sat quietly, understanding only too well the underlying motives for such a challenge.

Iba seemed mildly surprised at the question. "Soul Society isn't . . . heaven," he replied, as if it were obvious. "Soul Society is like . . . it's like an exchange. It's our job to maintain the balance, but we don't—we're not the ones that introduce new souls into the living world. And we're not the ones who decide when a soul has become . . . pure enough to enter the king's realm." He paused and narrowed his eyes in realization. "You . . . you thought Soul Society was the final destination."

"Isn't it?"

"Of course not," Iba replied. "Damn, if Soul Society were the final destination for good souls, it would be empty. How many of us die with a clean slate that would merit eternal joy? We'd all be in hell. Soul Society is our chance to improve, to make amends for past sins—"

"I don't believe in sin," Ikkaku scoffed.

"Call it whatever you want – the bad things we did in life – here, we have a chance to earn a higher place when we go back to the world of the living," Iba replied, then he inclined his head. "Or, we can choose to do bad things here and go back as something less than we were."

"What do you mean, go back?"

"Go back . . . to the world of the living," Iba replied. "You're not going to stay in Soul Society forever, you know. Even Shinigami are reborn into the living world. But the more a soul grows in perfection, the longer each of its stays in soul society grows. The captain commander is close to perfection, and he's been in Soul Society for so long . . . we all think his next stop will be the king's realm. He'll have come to the end, his final destination."

"But . . . but why do some souls that were good in life end up in the lowest numbers when they go to Soul Society?" Yumichika asked. "And bad men end up in the highest numbers."

Iba shrugged. "Souls move around from one number to the next. I'm sure there are some souls that were good in life that . . . found the temptations of soul society too much to bear and they actually regressed once they got here. The bottom line is that every soul has free will once it arrives in Soul Society. In fact, they probably have more freedom here to make good or bad decisions than they did in the living world."

Yumichika only nodded. He knew how he had ended up in the lower numbers. Rangiku had made the choice for him, taking into account what she thought would be best for him: a place of peace and isolation, at least initially. He could not blame her for any of the regression of his character since arriving in Soul Society. His own vanity had paved the way for the degradation of his soul.

"Well, so how evil does a soul have to be before it's sent to hell?" Ikkaku asked, and his skepticism was clear.

"I don't know," Iba replied. "And I don't worry about it. We're not the judges. As soon as zanpakuto cuts a hollow with a death blow, the soul goes wherever it's supposed to go. Whatever power exists out there that makes that determination, that's the way it is."

"I don't think there's a hell at all," Ikkaku belittled. "Or the . . . the king's realm. There's just the living world and the spirit world. And they've two sides of the same mirror. Both corrupt. Both despicable. All that other stuff . . . it's a bunch of bullshit."

"Then I wonder that you decided to become a Shinigami," Iba pointed out.

"I did it out of respect for Captain Zaraki," Ikkaku replied.

Iba looked at Yumichika. "What about you? Do you think it's all bullshit?"

"I believe in hell," Yumichika replied in a quiet, even voice. "I believe in . . . you call it the king's realm. My parents called it heaven. I believe in that, too." He looked down pensively. "I'm not sure what Soul Society is. It's like you said, it seems to be a place to . . . where you're given another chance." He paused. "You can choose to be better than you were in life. Or worse."

"Who would choose to be worse?" Ikkaku ridiculed. "That would mean you'd just go back as something less than you were."

"I think a lot of souls choose to be worse," Yumichika replied. "I hate to think that some the souls I've encountered are . . . _better_ than they were in life." He caught a shallow breath. "That would mean . . . that would mean they were monsters in life."

Ikkaku looked at him in meaningful silence. He knew precisely what Yumichika was speaking of. "That's why I don't believe in heaven or hell or kings or . . . sin or repentance. There's just the living and the dead. And we're the dead."

Iba was about to reply when the sound of a keening wail floated up to barely set the air abuzz around them.

"Did you hear that?" Ikkaku asked, jumping to his feet.

"Yes," Iba replied. "It came from way down in that valley."

Ikkaku regarded him with surprise. "You can tell where it came from? It was so soft, I could barely hear it."

Iba ignored the question. "Let's go."

The trio headed down from the observatory and skimmed above the forest as they headed down into the valley. The mournful cry met their ears again, and its growing strength told them they were getting closer.

"There," Iba announced suddenly.

Barely discernible through the trees was the line of a narrow ridge path. About a hundred feet below the path were three figures. The first was a man, hunched over the body of a woman, grasping her hand and shaking with visible sobs. It was his voice they had heard.

The third figure was that of the same woman. She was crouching beside the man, talking to him in desperate, distraught fits and starts. A chain hung from her chest.

"Looks like one of you is going to get your first shot at a konso," Iba noted, sounding perhaps a bit more callous than he'd intended. "Let me go down alone first. She's almost hysterical. Seeing us will only freak her out even more."

Iba headed down on his own.

"Looks like she fell from the trail," Ikkaku noted, sounding as if he were making notes for a report. "That has to be at least a hundred feet. I wonder how the hell he got down there without killing himself."

Yumichika was silent.

"They have a lot of hiking gear. I'll bet . . . look, you can kind of see where part of the trail fell away," Ikkaku went on. "Kind of like when you got caught in the rock slide during that flood."

The way Ikkaku said it so casually; it made Yumichika's insides twist.

"But you had Fuji Kujaku to save you." Ikkaku was still speaking. "And me." Then suddenly, he looked at Yumichika. "Can—can Fuji Kujaku save her?"

"The chain is separated," Yumichika replied. "She's already dead. She can't go back to that body."

"Are you sure? I mean, Fuji Kujaku can heal, so maybe—"

"No."

"Aren't you willing to try? Do you even know if he can do it?"

Yumichika could not understand Ikkaku's strange persistence. He took a deep breath and replied, "I don't know if he can or not. He's too powerful for me to risk it. I don't want to give him the freedom to unleash that kind of power, if he does have it." He paused. "Besides, it's not our purpose to bring people back to life. It's our purpose to send them on." He saw Iba motion to them, and he used the summons as a reason to quickly exit the conversation.

Yumichika and Ikkaku set down opposite Iba who was doing his best to comfort the aggrieved soul.

"These are my friends, Ikkaku Madarame and Yumichika Ayasegawa," Iba said. "They're Soul Reapers, too."

The woman seemed hardly to hear him. "I can't leave unless I know he's going to be okay," she wailed. "If he stays here, what if no one finds him?"

"He's not injured—" Iba began.

"But what if he won't leave me? He's been here for hours already and I—I'll never forgive myself if he dies because of me," the woman cried.

Ikkaku stepped forward. "I promise you, we'll make sure someone finds him."

Iba shot Ikkaku a warning look, but Ikkaku was firm.

"I'm the Third Seat of Squad Eleven, Ikkaku Madarame, and I give you my word on my name: I will make sure someone finds him. He won't die. Not out here. Not today." A pause. "Do you trust me?"

The woman looked up at him and saw something there in his face that must have comforted her.

"Yes, I do."

Ikkaku nodded once. "Good. I always keep my word. But you have to do your part, too. You're going to have to leave him. We're here to send you to Soul Society."

The woman sniffed back her tears, seeming to find some kind of inner strength and solace. "I'll go. But can you—can you give me a little more time alone with him? Just a few minutes?"

Ikkaku nodded. "We'll be up on the path."

No sooner had they moved up to their observation point than Iba began. "How do you intend to keep your word?" His words were not spoken as a challenge or reprimand. He wanted only for Ikkaku to think of the weight of his promise to the woman and whether it was even something within his power.

"I don't know," Ikkaku replied, "But I'll bet _you_ know ways for a Soul Reaper to make his presence known." He could tell immediately by Iba's reaction that he had hit the mark. "So, there _are_ ways to do it?"

"Yes," Iba replied. "But it's not—it's frowned upon to interfere in the lives of the living."

"Then let them frown," Ikkaku stated. "In the meantime, I want you to find a way to direct someone towards this man."

"I'll need my gigai," Iba said, and he sounded more excited than resigned.

A gigai was a body casing created especially to house a soul in order to make it visible and tangible in the world of the living. Few Shinigami had them, for they were created only as individual special needs arose. Yumichika and Ikkaku did not have theirs yet, but it was deemed that, given their ranks, they would need them, and so construction was already underway.

"Then get it," Ikkaku ordered.

"It's back in Soul Society," Iba stated.

"You know how to open a senkaimon," Ikkaku replied. "Go get it."

Iba willingly did as ordered. It may not have been the sort of thing he'd expected from any member of Zaraki's squad, but he agreed with the decision.

"Do you think this is a smart thing to do?" Yumichika asked.

"I made a promise to her," Ikkaku replied. "You told me to be a man of my word."

"You seem to think it's alright to pick and choose when you want to be that man," Yumichika jabbed with a wry inflection.

"So, you think I'm doing the wrong thing?" Ikkaku asked.

"No, I don't think that," Yumichika replied. "I . . . I think it's a very good thing you're doing. Good for her. Good for him."

Ikkaku was silent for a few seconds, then he said in a reserved and thoughtful voice, "It's strange. He's grieving over her, and she's grieving over him. What—what do you think he'd feel if he knew how worried she was about him?"

"That's hard to say," Yumichika replied. "Everyone reacts differently to adversity."

After a hesitation, Ikkaku admitted, "I'm not sure she'll agree to a konso until she sees he's safe."

"Then why don't we wait until Iba gets back with help?" Yumichika replied. "We have nowhere else to be, and she would probably feel better if we were close by."

"My thoughts exactly."

Several minutes later, Iba returned – already in his gigai.

"So, what's your plan?" he asked.

"Simple, go back up to the observatory and tell them that while you were out hiking, you found those two. If they've got all those fancy telescopes that you were talking about, they should be able to turn one this direction and see this area," Ikkaku instructed.

"What? I just show up out of nowhere? Dressed like this? These aren't exactly hiking clothes," Iba balked, looking down at the casual daywear that was standard for his gigai.

"That doesn't matter," Ikkaku replied. "You're never going to see those people again, so what difference does it make? We just need to direct their attention over here."

"What about her?" Iba asked. "Do you want to do a konso on her now, before I go to the observatory?"

"No," Ikkaku answered. "I think she'd feel better staying here until someone finds him, and then we'll do a konso."

"Which one of you wants to try? It will be your first," Iba said.

"We'll make that decision when the time comes," Ikkaku replied.

With that, Iba sprang off in the direction of the observatory.

* * *

"Flashy! Where are ya?!"

"You don't have to bellow at the top of your lungs."

Hoozukimaru turned to see Ruri'iro Kujaku emerge from the wall opposite the throne dais.

"In one of these walls again? You know, I think you're spending way too much time in there. Eh, so what? Have you been paying attention to what our masters are doing?" The dragon's voice was filled with anticipation.

"On and off," came the careless reply.

"They're in the world of the living on their first mission, and you're acting like you don't care," Hoozukimaru chastised.

"I don't," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied, smoothing over the long feathers of his train.

"One of them is going to perform a konso," Hoozukimaru stated with emphasis. "It will be a first for either one of them!"

"Yes, well, it will probably be Madarame, since my own master hates to do anything that might bring me pleasure," the fussy peacock sniffed.

Hoozukimaru was a patient creature with a long fuse, but he had had just about enough of the peacock's silly antics and flippant behavior. He had come to expect such supercilious remarks from Ruri'iro any time Yumichika was mentioned, but things had deteriorated to the point where even Hoozukimaru's unconditional love for the silly bird was being worn thin.

"I don't think my master has the skill yet to do something like that," the dragon pointed out. "So, it will probably be up to you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku shrugged and went to admire his image as a mirror floated outside past one of the windows.

"Do you know what to do?" Hoozukimaru asked.

"How hard can it be?" Ruri'iro Kujaku asked.

"Well, considering you've never done it before, don't you think you should . . . spend some time preparing?"

Ruri'iro turned sideways, admiring his body's beautiful profile. "How does one prepare for something one knows nothing about?" He glanced at his companion. "How are you preparing?"

"By watching what's going on with my master," Hoozukimaru replied. "By not letting myself get distracted with all kinds of other things."

"So, what do you do, sit around your inner world all day, doing nothing but observing and waiting? That sounds dreadfully boring."

"It's not boring," Hoozukimaru disagreed. "But I'm not going to let you draw me into a conversation like that. I'm just telling you that there's a good chance Little Pretty might be getting ready to do one of the two things we zanpakuto were created to do. We have only two reasons for our existence: konsos and combat. Aren't you even the slightest bit curious how it will feel to do a konso?"

"Not even the slightest," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied.

Hoozukimaru was amazed that the peacock honestly thought his deception was working. No amount of feigned indifference could mask the hurt that peeked through the words, the expressions, even the vainglorious admiration of his own beauty. And it was his own observation of this hurt that drove Hoozukimaru to the certainty that he did not want such a thing to happen between himself and his own master.

He strode over to where Ruri'iro Kujaku was still looking at his reflection and turned him away from the window, keeping his large fur-knuckled hands on his shoulders. It was a gesture he made often when it seemed the kujaku was in need of some kind of soothing for which he was unwilling to ask. And every time, it had the tried and true effect of breaking down some portion (and sometimes all) of Ruri'iro's barriers and defenses.

This time was no different.

"Flashy." Hoozukimaru spoke the word as an invitation, an expectation of honesty. "Why won't you look at me?"

"You know why," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied. "I don't want to feel that way."

"You'd rather be angry and unhappy?" Hoozukimaru coaxed.

After a few seconds of silence, Ruri'iro leaned against the rocky stolidness of the dragon's body, letting his cheek settle into the furred chest. "The things that would make me happy are gone forever."

"There you go again, being overdramatic," Hoozukimaru chastised gently. "I mean, I'm here, right? Don't I make you happy?"

"I suppose so."

"You suppose so?!" Hoozukimaru assumed the pretense of mock indignation.

Ruri'iro Kujaku smiled. "I suppose so."

* * *

"Listen. What's that sound?" Yumichika asked. "It's coming from up the valley."

"I don't know what that is," Ikkaku replied.

It was six hours after Iba had left them for the observatory, and the sun was directly overhead. They had gone down several times to check on the woman and the man, each time deeming that the situation, while agonizingly sad, was at least stable. Then they would return to the trail once again to afford the sundered couple some privacy.

Suddenly, they heard the woman shout out, "It's a helicopter!"

"A what?" Ikkaku asked.

"A helicopter! Oh, someone's coming! Someone's looking for us! Thank God, thank God, someone's coming!"

Ikkaku and Yumichika looked at each other, perplexed. She mightaswell have been speaking gibberish, but clearly she found this strange sound to be promising.

"I'm going to go see what it is," Ikkaku announced. "You stay here and keep an eye on them."

He did not wait for Yumichika's acknowledgment before flashstepping up towards the top of the mountain, where the visibility was better. He had to search a bit, but after a few minutes, his eye caught sight of a dull flash of metal against the northern horizon. Ikkaku watched as the contraption grew closer and was astonished to see a bird-shaped body topped by a single rotating blade. He leapt up to perch on one of the runners, his uniform whipping in the wind of the blade. There were four men total inside, three whom Ikkaku didn't recognize and Iba, who waved him off in irritation.

Ikkaku leapt off to stand in midair.

"The son-of-a-bitch did it," Ikkaku said to himself. "He was able to get help. I can't believe he was able to do it." His voice caught in his throat. What stupid emotion was this he was feeling? Relief? Joy? Pride? Shit, it was ridiculous to feel this way – especially about people and souls he did not know.

He composed himself and returned to Yumichika, who had gone down to be with the woman.

"It's Iba," he announced. "He's brought help. They should be overhead soon."

"He wanted to walk the entire Appalachian Trail."

Both Shinigami looked at the woman. Her voice had surprised them both. "He said, if we wait too much longer, we'll be too old to walk the whole thing." A pause. "We were more than halfway done."

No words seemed appropriate, and both Ikkaku and Yumichika sensed that no response was necessary or expected. The woman wanted only to say the things on her mind.

"We've been married 32 years. All our children are grown. It seemed like the right time to do it. He told me there were still beautiful places out in the wilderness, and . . . he was right." She swallowed. "I don't know if he can live without me. And I don't know if—how can heaven be heaven if he's not there?"

Ikkaku was dumbfounded.

The woman looked from one man to the next. "I mean, you're angels, aren't you? Can you tell me? What is it going to be like? And will I be able to see him again?"

It dawned on both men at the same time: this woman had a completely different concept of the afterlife than that which they were in the service of.

"I, uh . . . we're uh . . . we're not angels," Yumichika stammered, but Ikkaku cut him off.

"We're Soul Reapers, which is a lot like what you refer to as angels," he interjected. "It's our job to make sure you get to your next destination. And if—if you believe you'll see your husband again, you'll see him again."

"Will he be alright?"

"We can't see the future," Ikkaku replied in a docile, sympathetic voice. "But . . . but you can't—you can't help him by worrying. And you have all of eternity ahead of you. For his sake, you have to find the courage to go boldly."

It was only ten minutes later when the helicopter came into view, but already, from the moment the sound of the rotator had been audible, the man had reluctantly left the body of his wife and gone back up to the trail to flag down help. There had been a point when Ikkaku had doubted that the man would even seek rescue, that he might be so disconsolate as to stay there and lose his own life on that mountain. But such had not been the case. And now, the man stood there, speaking outloud as if his wife were there beside him.

"Help's almost here. Everything will be alright now, Sharon. I told you I would never leave you here. Someone was watching out for us. We're going to go home together. I'm not leaving you here."

Almost immediately upon the arrival of the helicopter overhead, two of the rescuers descended one at a time on a winch, followed by Iba. Ikkaku and Yumichika approached the fourth seat as he unhooked his harness; they immediately began peppering him with questions and comments.

"How did you do it? Who are these men you brought? Thank god you got here when you did."

Iba ignored them and went to the edge of the trail with the pretense of looking over, but putting some distance between himself and the others who had come with him.

"I'm in a gigai!" he hissed quietly. "These guys can't see you, so I can't talk to you. They'll think I'm going nuts." A pause. "And now I need to stay here with them until they're done."

"But what about the konso?" Yumichika asked.

"Once these guys have left and taken these two with them, I'll stay behind. You wouldn't believe the story I had to make up about how I found them."

It took the two rescuers, with Iba's help, nearly an hour to bring the woman's body up to the trail, wrap it in a sort of plastic cloth and reel it up into the helicopter, which had been hovering at a short distance away during the operation. Once her husband was safely on board, it was now time for Iba to make his exit. The first rescuer was reeled back up to the chopper. The second had a persistent demeanor.

"Are you sure you don't want to come back with us?"

"I'm sure. My gear is just up the trail a little ways. I'll be fine."

"You're sure? You don't want to go check and make sure it's all still there before we leave you? You were off the mountain for quite some time. Bears or other animals may have gotten into it. I wouldn't feel right leaving you up here – not until I at least know your gear is still intact."

"I, uh . . ." Iba was trapped. He could not prove to them that a nonexistent stash of gear was still safe. And they would not leave otherwise. He could not suddenly "disappear" from their sight, for that would launch a search for a missing man. If he went back with them, he could be free of their presence in a couple hours, the amount of time it took to get back to the heliport. Then he could flashstep quickly back. "Okay, I'll go back with you. Just . . . just, ah, let me uh, I gotta do my business first, huh."

"Go 'head. We'll wait for you."

Iba went twenty or so yards down the trail and made sure he was out of sight.

"Don't try the konso until I get back. I shouldn't be more than three hours," he ordered

"But what do we do with her in the meantime?" Ikkaku asked.

"Be thoughtful."

And then Iba was gone.

It did not take long, however, for Ikkaku to decide that Iba's admonition that they wait for his return simply was not an acceptable option.

The soul of the dead woman, seeing her earthly body taken away, along with the departure of her greatest love, was in no condition to wait around for the next step. Staying here, in this place, where so much tragedy had befallen, was too much to ask anyone to bear.

Out of her earshot, Ikkaku decided.

"I'm going to attempt a konso."

"Ikkaku, Iba said—"

"I outrank Iba," Ikkaku cut Yumichika off.

"But you don't know how to do one," Yumichika pressed.

"They showed us the procedure. What can go wrong? It works or it doesn't. It's not like we can send a soul to hell unless that's where it's supposed to go," Ikkaku replied.

"I don't think—"

Ikkaku turned and approached the woman, whose name he now knew to be Sharon.

"Sharon, are you ready?"

And even though she did not look ready, she nodded.

Ikkaku withdrew his sword and held up the blunt end of the grip. As a new Soul Reaper, he had been advised to speak the incantation with the expectation that one day, he would not need to do so. But this being his first time . . .

"Winds of the north  
Seas the East  
Fires of the West  
Rains of the South  
All bonds release.  
All pathways open.  
Rightly direct."

He looked at the base of the grip, but the konso symbol had not illuminated. He repeated the incantation, and still nothing. He could not admit to the woman that he was having difficulty; that would hardly inspire confidence. Instead, he turned quietly to Yumichika.

"Do it."

Yumichika suppressed his natural disinclination, but he would not disappoint Ikkaku by refusing.

He withdrew Ruri'iro Kujaku from his scabbard and spoke the incantation. A reddish light glowed from the bottom of the hilt as the symbol appeared, and Yumichika almost lost his train of thought. He reached out and took gentle hold of the chain in the woman's chest. Without saying a word of parting, for fear of disrupting the spell, he pressed the symbol to her forehead.

Her soul dissipated immediately into a sparkling cloud of light and there suddenly . . . a hell butterfly, a sure sign that the soul was headed to Soul Society.

After the hell butterfly had left, leading its charge to the next life, Yumichika stood motionless, awestruck.

Now, he understood why humans sometimes referred to Soul Reapers as Death Gods.

At that moment, he felt like a god.

* * *

Ruri'iro Kujaku sat up suddenly. He'd been lounging on the bed in the maroon room, Hoozukimaru beside him. He looked down at his body, which was emanating a reddish glow – not a color he had ever given off before.

"What—what is this? I—I'm being—" He got to his feet then teetered for a moment before reaching out to lean against the bedpost. The light began to fade. "Energy just went out of me!"

Hoozukimaru regarded him with interest. "You okay?"

"Well, yes . . . yes, but who—who's taking my energy without my . . . ohhhh, you don't suppose this was . . . this was . . . "

"Little Pretty performing a konso? I'll bet it was."

"What a strange feeling," Ruri'iro breathed, sitting back on the bed. "He—he didn't even have to call upon me. He was just able to take some of my energy and use it."

"It doesn't seem to have done you any harm."

"No, I guess not," Ruri'iro agreed. "But it was strange, nonetheless."

"Uh-oh . . . speaking of strange, my master is back in my world. Oh, and he's kind of pissed off, which I like. I need to go back," Hoozukimaru stood up and stretched. "And I was just getting comfortable."

"Will you come again soon?" Ruri'iro Kujaku asked, and he sounded mildly disconcerted.

"Soon as I can," Hoozukimaru replied. "But uh, from what I can sense of my master's state of mind, it might be a while."

With that, he was gone.

* * *

Ikkaku stood with his back to the mouth of the cave under the volcano, looking out over the dense surrounding jungle. He was rapidly losing his temper, having already lost his patience.

Then he sensed his zanpakuto's unannounced presence and turned to see him coming down the tunnel from the cave.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting here—"

"For only a minute or two," Hoozukimaru completed the sentence, not about to take any nonsense.

"So, where were you?"

"I was in Fuji Kujaku's world," came the reply.

Ikkaku scowled. "I think you spend too much time there."

"Yeah, well, you think a lot of stupid things."

This retort only deepened Ikkaku's anger. "I'm starting to think that you're nothing but bluster, because you sure don't seem to be powerful."

As a taunt, it was effective. Hoozukimaru crossed his arms and struck a provoking posture. "You doubt my strength?"

"Damn right, I do," Ikkaku replied. "What else am I supposed to think when I'm being bested every time I turn around?"

"Bested? By whom?"

"Yumichika defeated a hollow – two, if I include the one at the river. Yumichika should have defeated me in the contest to get into the squad. I only won because he let me. And now, he had to perform the konso, because I couldn't," Ikkaku snarled.

"You tried to perform the konso?" Hoozukimaru looked genuinely bewildered.

"Of course, I did!" Ikkaku exclaimed. "But you must have too busy hanging out with Fuji Kujaku to hear my voice." A sneer came into his expression. "But Fuji Kujaku wasn't too busy to hear Yumichika's voice. And so now, there's another area where Yumichika has surpassed me."

"You tried the konso first . . . huh, that's interesting." Hoozukimaru spoke in absorbed thought.

"What's so interesting about it? I failed. You didn't respond."

Hoozukimaru looked at him, and there was no belligerence in his manner. "Partner, I didn't know you had tried. I didn't get any sense from you that you were attempting it."

"Well, I did try. And it was humiliating. I'm the Third Seat, damn it! I should be stronger than Yumichika," Ikkaku fumed. "Yet, he beats me to everything."

"It's not a competition with him, is it?" the dragon posed. "Because in certain areas, you'll never be as strong as he is – just like he'll never be as strong as you as a fighter." A pause. "But your problem has nothing to do with Little Pretty. It has to do with the relationship between us. You want my power but you don't want to put forth the effort to gain it."

"Maybe that was true. But not anymore. I think it's time you told me your name," Ikkaku said, and it was not a suggestion. "If I'm going to be doing these missions, I need to know how to make use of your abilities." A pause. "I need to learn shikai."

Hoozukimaru's smile was a challenge. "Just like that? You think I'm just going to tell you my name?"

Ikkaku leered back. "Well, I was kind of hoping I'd have to beat it out of you."

"Well, then, today is your lucky day," the dragon said with a toothy grin, "because that's exactly what you'll have to do."

"Oh, it's what I'll do," Ikkaku said assuredly, drawing out his sword. "I'm going to defeat you."

"We'll see about that." Hoozukimaru held out his hand, and his own weapon materialized from thin air. "Let's do it!"

* * *

Yumichika stood rubbing his palm anxiously over the hilt of his sword. He scanned his surroundings nervously, his eyes traveling often back to where Ikkaku sat in a bare spot they had discovered in the woods just below the trail where the terrain evened out a bit.

He could feel Ikkaku's reiatsu bursting forth in wave after wave, and its intensity was not only nerve-wracking, but Yumichika feared it might be potentially dangerous. Who – or what – else might be detecting such spirit energy? There had already been one death here and the allure of that soul might have attracted a hollow before finally being dispatched Soul Society.

At the moment, Yumichika was wishing that Fourth Seat Tetzusaemon had stayed with them. He cursed his own over-confidence and selfish nature. When Ikkaku had said that he was going to enter his inner world to "beat that bastard's name out of him", Yumichika had been nonchalant about it. He understood that Ikkaku was angry and anxious to take up the matter of the konso with his zanpakuto; and he had figured that, even though Iba was not around to lend assistance, how dangerous could it be for Ikkaku to enter his own inner world? Certainly no more dangerous than it was for Yumichika to enter his.

Now, he wondered how he could have ever imagined his own limited skills would be adequate to handle whatever forces might manifest from Ikkaku's inner world? Simply because Ikkaku was only newly acquainted with his zanpakuto, Yumichika had assumed—wrongly—that any display of power would be limited.

The brutal reiatsu roiling around him was blunt proof of his mistake. The appearance of blood on Ikkaku's brow and shoulder also told him that, whatever was going on in Ikkaku's inner world, it was not a friendly encounter between master and zanpakuto. After all, the attempt to ascertain a zanpakuto's name was, by most accounts, not an easy or pleasant task.

By most accounts.

Of course, in the case of Ruri'iro Kujaku, it had been not only pleasant, but intoxicating. To this day, Yumichika could not say which one of them had been seduced: himself or Ruri'iro Kujaku. It little mattered, for the result was the same. The name had been divulged and the next step taken on the path of their evolving relationship – a relationship that had since that day suffered greatly and now seemed to be further deteriorating.

Yumichika was almost tempted to indulge his loathing for the fussy peacock and his own sense of having been wronged, but the situation at hand was tense and called out for his full attention. He strode anxiously in a circle around Ikkaku, scanning the forest for any signs of movement, listening for the sounds of approach, and reaching out in an attempt to detect reiatsu.

But everything was still and quiet. The only sounds were those of his own footfalls, muted upon the needle-covered ground, and an occasional sound of exertion from Ikkaku.

Another hour passed. The sun was heading towards the horizon, and the heat was starting to penetrate the canopy above.

A glance at Ikkaku showed the blood flowing more freely now.

Yumichika grimaced. What the hell was going on in there?

* * *

"This is . . . pathetic!" Hoozukimaru made sure to utter with last word with a pronounced hiss of disgust. "_You_ are pathetic! I feel like I'm wasting my time."

"Don't be . . . so sure of yourself," Ikkaku said between gasps. He was down on one knee, catching his breath and regaining his wits. For the past—shit, he didn't know how long it had been; he only knew he'd been getting the crap pummeled out of him by his zanpakuto, and that it felt as if it had been going on for hours.

"Give me a reason not to be sure of myself," the dragon retorted, then angrily, "Damn it, master!" He drove his weapon into the ground, where it split the rock and stood like a grave marker. "Are you really this weak?!" Do you think I'm just going to tell you my name when you don't deserve it? What is it going to take to make you fight me seriously?!"

"I am fighting you seriously," Ikkaku shot back with as much energy as his exhaustion would allow.

"Bullshit! You—you're sleepwalking through this! And because of that, _I'm_ still half asleep!" A glare narrowed his eyes. "You put forth more effort when you were fighting Zaraki."

"Well, maybe if you'd stop yacking and just get down to fighting, I'd have to work harder!" Ikkaku accused.

"Eh, don't mark me for a fool, partner," Hoozukimaru warned. "I could kill you right now with a flick of my wrist. But your death means my death, and that's not my game. I just want to see you get stronger."

"That's what I'm trying to do—"

"That's what you say, but you're not working very hard at it!"

Ikkaku dragged in an exasperated breath. "Screw you."

The dragon grinned. "That's colorful, but unless it inspires you to do better than you're doing now, it doesn't mean a thing."

"Maybe it does inspire me!" With that, Ikkaku sprang forward and renewed his attack.

* * *

"_What a horrible smell."_

Yumichika brought the back of his hand up under his nose, but it did nothing to block out the putrid stench that suddenly had begun wafting past his nostrils. He waved his hand a few times, but to no avail. The odor grew stronger and more rancid.

"_What on earth smells so bad?" _

Before he could even think of an answer, a ripple disturbed his reiatsu. His hand went immediately back to his sword, for he knew what he was sensing. He withdrew Ruri'iro Kujaku's shimmering length and scanned his surroundings with probing eyes and heightened senses. His eyes detected no movement, his ears no sound. But it was coming closer. There was no mistaking it.

A hollow.

He spared a glance at Ikkaku, still deeply entranced. He knew it could be dangerous to disturb a man in the midst of jinzen, especially when internal combat was involved; but given the situation, Yumichika decided reticence was not an option. He certainly was not about to try and ward off a hollow by himself – not after his near-defeat last time, saved from the certainty of death only through the full shikai release of Ruri'iro Kujaku. He couldn't do that this time, not with Ikkaku right there.

"Ikkaku," he said with quiet intensity.

Not unexpectedly, he received no response.

"Ikkaku!" He reached out to nudge him just as an unseen blow plowed into him from behind and he was sent spinning between the trees. Catching himself in mid-flight, he snagged a branch and used the momentum to swing himself around and back towards Ikkaku; but as his feet were about to touch down, yet another invisible jab struck him in the chest and this time, he was slammed backwards into a tree that splintered at the impact and toppled over his head as he slid down to the ground. Raising his eyes he saw the direction of the tree's fall would bring it to land directly on top of Ikkaku. Springing up and into flashstep, he pulled Ikkaku to safety and was about to make another leap when his head was jerked down and he found himself face-to-face with glaring rage.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ikkaku's voice was seething.

"Ikkaku—"

That was as far as Yumichika got before yet another punch blasted both him and Ikkaku skyward, the force of the blow shearing them away from each other. As Yumichika attempted to redirect himself towards Ikkaku, he was struck again, sent careening back towards the ground, and this time the impact knocked him into blackness.

Ikkaku skidded to a halt in midair. Having been yanked so abruptly and violently from his inner world, he had initially been confused and muddled as to what was going on. But not anymore. He and Yumichika were being attacked – attacked by an invisible assailant.

The sight of Yumichika plummeting downward and the plume of dirt, rock and leaves that followed were enough to jolt Ikkaku immediately into the moment. He searched the sky but saw nothing. There was no sign to give away where the attacker might be. He stood there motionless in the air, expecting, any second, to see Yumichika coming up to join him. But there was no movement from below.

"Damn," he spat between gritted teeth, turning to head down, but then he felt something hit him in the side and he sailed in a perfect arc over the forest, coming down in the middle of a glassy lake on the other side of the observatory, where he plunged deep before regaining his bearing and driving towards the surface. As he looked up, he saw a great commotion of light and bubbles on the surface; and then just barely, he could make out a strange undulation of light in the water.

It was a figure, moving towards him; and although the dimensions were hard to discern in the water, it appeared monstrous in size. It was still not clearly visible, no material body identifiable; but its presence was definite.

Ikkaku reached for his zanpakuto and made an upward thrust as the creature bore down upon him. The ease with which his attack met its mark told Ikkaku that the creature had not realized that the water made it at least partially visible.

A trail of wispy liquid darkened the water around the creature, but still it continued its pursuit.

Ikkaku broke the surface of the water just as a blast of spray erupted beneath him and he rode a spout into the air and then splashed back down into the water. He looked skyward, but then an anomaly caught his eye. There was a shadow on the water's surface, growing larger quickly. It was the creature's shadow, expanding as its caster drew closer to the water.

In his hand below the surface, Ikkaku kept a tight, hidden grip on his sword. At the last second, he kicked powerfully with his legs, clearing the water and lashing out with his weapon, drawing blood once again. However, this time he felt a deep pain in his left side and looking down, saw a gaping wound pouring forth blood. A ripple over the water's surface told him his attacker was approaching again – at breakneck speed. He flashstepped out of the way and was delivered a glancing blow to the back of his head as the creature passed. He skidded across the water like a skipping stone and dug a furrow on the far bank that ended when he went head-first into a rocky outcropping.

He pushed up onto his hands and knees. The fingers of his right hand were still curled around the hilt of his weapon. He staggered to his feet and turned to see if he could detect the creature's movement above the water; but from this plane, he could not see any disturbance on the surface. He sprang into the air and once he had gained a bit of altitude, he was able to see the shadow moving above its ripple – back towards the far side of the lake, back towards where Yumichika had fallen.

Apparently, either the creature had had its fill of Ikkaku or it believed him to be dead. And if it were headed for Yumichika, Ikkaku would not let that stand.

"Oh, we're not finished yet," he said under his breath.

"_You're going to be finished if you don't show some strength!"_

It was the voice of his zanpakuto.

"Trust me, I'll take care of it," Ikkaku replied out loud. "You just—you just make sure Yumichika's safe."

"_How the hell am I supposed to do that when I'm here with you? You want him to be safe, you'd better get over there now and stop piddling." _

"Look, if you're not going to lend me your power, then shut the fuck up!" Ikkaku blurted out angrily, but then much to his surprise, he could sense the satisfaction, almost feel the smile coming from his zanpakuto.

"_Now, that's the fire I would expect from my master. I'll make you a deal. You show me your strength. You defeat this hollow on—"_

"Hollow?!"

"_Yes, of course, it's a hollow. What did you think it was, idiot?" _A pause._ "You defeat this hollow on your own, and I'll consider telling you my name."_

"What kind of bullshit deal is that?!" Ikkaku bellowed.

"_If you don't defeat it, it will defeat you. And it will probably kill Little Pretty, as well," _came the reply. _"So, I'm just giving you added incentive to stop screwing around and destroy it. Do you want to die without ever having known me?"_

"Oh, this is . . . for fuck's sake!" But despite his ire, in the next instant, Ikkaku had stepped off and was headed towards the far shore.

* * *

Iba was not sure whether to be furious or terrified. And so he settled on both.

His fury was with himself for having been so stupid as to leave two relatively new officers on their own during their first patrol in the living world – even though one of those officers outranked him. He should have known better. But he had convinced himself that the two were perfectly capable – or at least, passable; and besides . . . they were a strange pair, seeming to need time alone together in a way that Iba did not understand but felt no compunction to question.

The fear was more complex. From the moment he had gotten off the helicopter and begun his journey back to the forest, he'd felt that Madarame and Ayasegawa were in genuine danger, but he also feared what would become of him if the two were seriously injured and it came to light that he had left them alone. His tenure in Squad Eleven would be over before it had even begun.

He raced towards the concentration of reiatsu, hoping against all hope that his captain, wherever he might be, had not also detected it.

* * *

Yumichika shook his head slowly. He felt as if his brain had broken into a million pieces. Beneath him, his hand touched something hard. He looked down to see the ground was solid rock beneath him. He was sitting in a crater about thirty feet across and ten feet deep. The impact of his body had blown away all the surface dirt and trees, cleaving straight down to the bedrock.

A quick check told him nothing was broken. He was covered with bruises and there were bloody patches; but he was in no danger of dying. He got slowly to his feet, where he stopped to steady himself.

A man's enraged battle cry met his ears, and he knew immediately it was Ikkaku.

He began to run but had gone only a few steps before stopping. His hand, going to his waist, had come up empty.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was gone.

Yumichika recollected that he'd been holding the weapon when the attack had come. The zanpakuto must have been jarred loose and now, he could be anywhere.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku!" Yumichika shouted, though to what end he knew not. Calling out would do not good. He needed to enter his inner world. And he needed to do it quickly.

He leapt out of the crater, landing unsteadily and dropping to his knees.

He entered through the shrine, but the reikon was not to be seen.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku!" he shouted. "Come to me! Ruri'iro Kujaku! I need you!"

Several seconds passed with no response. He ran outside the shrine and called out again. When he turned back in, he noticed something he had not seen before.

The painting on the wall behind the throne: it was . . . alive. Not only that . . .

Yumichika stepped closer.

It was the woods in which they were now standing. The woods of this area of the living world. And he could see Ruri'iro Kujaku approaching from the other side of wall, unhurried and impassive. The moment the reikon passed through the plane of the wall, the image vanished entirely.

Yumichika was beyond perplexed, but he had no time to think about what he had just seen.

"I need your help," he began directly. "I can't find you, and I need to know where you are."

"Go look for me," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied, his voice cold and untouched.

"That will take too long!" Yumichika protested. "I need you now!"

"To save Madarame?"

"And to save myself!"

The peacock tossed his head. "Ha! What good would I be to you? You won't release me. "

"I command you to show me where you are!"

Ruri'iro was placid. "Very well." He waved his arm and the wall once again brightened with color. It was a vista of the crater in the woods. "Follow me."

Yumichika stared at him uncomprehending.

The reikon stepped into the picture and immediately the vista came to life. He turned and held out a hand across the plane. "Come inside."

Yumichika balked, even taking a step back. "This is some kind of trick."

Ruri'iro Kujaku sighed and lowered his hand. "You don't trust me at all anymore, yet you come here asking for my help."

"I can't go in there," Yumichika replied. "It's a wall. And—and even if I could go inside, why should I believe that you'll let me back out?"

After a brief hesitation, Ruri'iro answered firmly, "Because I'm your zanpakuto. Like it or not, I'm your zanpakuto. You're mine and I'm yours. If you can't trust me, so be it." He extended his hand once more. "I'm offering to show you the only thing I have that is still mine."

"I don't—this is all a distraction!" Yumichika charged. "I don't want to see what neat little tricks you can do in here! I need you in my hand right now! Don't you know what's going on out there?!"

"I know better than you do," the kujaku replied. "And I can help. That's what I'm offering. It's your decision whether to accept or not. Come. We're wasting time."

"Can't you just show me where you are?" Yumichika asked, exasperated.

"I can do better. I can take you there."

Still, Yumichika was reluctant.

"Master, trust me. You can hate me. I can hate you. But we have to trust each other, don't we?" Ruri'iro pressed.

Yumichika reached out and took his hand. In the next moment, he was drawn into the vista.

Nothing felt odd. Nothing looked different. When he looked back over his shoulder, he was looking not into the shrine but into the woods, and he could hear the sounds of combat still.

Ruri'iro Kujaku released his hand. "Follow me."

Yumichika followed him warily, constantly on the lookout for trouble or double-dealings. After a minute of walking, he had grown impatient. "We have to go faster."

"No, we don't," Ruri'iro replied, sounding as if he hadn't a single care.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku!"

"Don't be so hasty," the peacock scolded. "That's always been your problem. You've always wanted to move too fast."

"I didn't come here for a lecture," Yumichika steamed. "I'm here because Ikkaku needs my help, and I need your help."

"He doesn't need your help," Ruri'iro stated. "In fact . . . this is one time when he's not going to have your help." With that, he stepped aside, revealing his own gleaming sword form lying on the forest floor.

Yumichika leapt forward and made to snatch up the weapon. But his hand passed through it.

"What—what's this?! Why can't I pick you up?"

"Because I'm not in here. My sword form is out there."

"What?! What kind of trick is this?!"

"It's no trick. I've shown you where I am, but this is still my inner world."

Yumichika suddenly noticed that there was no reiatsu to be felt in this place: only his own and Ruri'iro Kujaku's.

"Why can't I feel Ikkaku's reiatsu?" he demanded. "I can't even sense the hollow!"

"I told you: we're not in that world."

Yumichika was In no mood for puzzles or games. "Then get me back to the other world."

The reikon turned and faced him, the wisteria eyes dark and deep. "No."

"Ruri'iro Kujaku—"

"It's for your own good, master. You would not be doing Madarame any favors by helping him."

Yumichika felt the fire rushing into his veins. "Damn it, Ruri'iro Kujaku, release me from here or I swear, I'll imprison you and never let you free again."

"If you imprison me, you may never be able to leave here," the peacock replied. "Besides, I don't even know if that ability of yours reaches into this world."

Yumichika glared at him with hatred, but he had no time to argue or indulge his anger. Instead, he took off running in the direction he judged to be proper, for although he could feel no spirit energy, he could still hear the sounds of conflict. He attempted flashstep twice, both times losing his balance and tumbling across the forest floor, attesting to the fact that either he was injured worse than he'd believed or that things were so topsy-turvy in this parallel world that he had no command over time and space. After the second failure, he decided to go the rest of the way on foot.

At length, he came to a clearing – though not a natural clearing. The trees were splintered, the ground torn by huge gouges, dirt and rock strewn in every direction. And in the center of the destruction stood Ikkaku, bloodied and battered, but nonetheless defiant.

"Ikkaku!" Yumichika shouted, leaping forward.

Ikkaku gave no indication of hearing him.

Yumichika ran towards the melee, and as he did so, he saw in perfect clarity, the body of the hollow: a broad bipedal creature three stories high with three pairs of arms, the top pair of which ended in pincers. The head was bulbous and pulsating with no discernible eyes, nose or mouth. It had two open wounds – one running down its front torso, the other across the top of one stout barrel-shaped leg.

It was clear that Ikkaku still could not see the hollow, and Yumichika had no way of communicating with him. And although Yumichika could see the hollow, he could no more touch it than he could his zanpakuto back on the ground in the woods.

And so he could only watch as Ikkaku went down again and again under the brutal onslaught on the unseen enemy.

He sensed Ruri'iro Kujaku's presence behind him and turned angrily to face him.

"Let me out of here!" he demanded.

"I can't," the reikon replied. "I gave my word."

"Gave your word? To whom?!" Yumichika demanded.

The peacock was silent.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku! Tell me!"

"I can't," Ruri'iro replied. "Not until it's over."

"He's going to be killed!" Yumichika cried out.

The zanpakuto looked indifferent. "I would think you would have more faith in him." He made a motion that looked like a bird stretching its wings, then settled his arms across his shoulders in a demur manner. "But while you may think he can't win, I know his zanpakuto will not let him lose."

* * *

"_You have to lure it back out over the water where you can see its shadow!"_

"What the fuck do you think I've been trying to do?!"

"_Well, you're not trying very hard!"_

Ikkaku struggled back to his knees, his grimace made all the menacing by the lines of blood dripping down across his face. "It's not interested in following me," he hissed. "I can see where it's moving through the trees. It's trying to find Yumichika." He gathered his strength and made a leap upward. "See, it must be headed that way."

"_If you can't divert it, you'd better keep up with it," _Hoozukimaru warned.

In his parallel world, Yumichika stayed beside Ikkaku, still attempting to communicate with him.

Still unsuccessful. He was vaguely aware of Ruri'iro Kujaku gliding along behind him, but the peacock was silent. This suited Yumichika just fine, for he was so furious with the reikon that he still had not abandoned the idea of locking him up for good once this fiasco was over.

But then suddenly, the idea of punishment fled his mind as he saw the hollow push through an opening in the trees, and there sitting quietly on the ground . . .

Yumichika's own spirit body, deeply entranced.

"Let me go back! Ruri'iro Kujaku! Let me out of here!" he shouted urgently. "It's going to crush me!"

"Stop fussing," the peacock said, unperturbed. "Look, Madarame sees you."

And indeed, when Yumichika looked back, it was to see Ikkaku crashing down through the treetops, touching down only long enough to snatch Yumichika into his arms and bound skyward again. He had been able to follow the hollow's path through the forest, and the creature had led him straight to Yumichika.

But now that he had him, Ikkaku was not sure where he go to safely deposit him. And as he skimmed back over the treetops, he made several attempts to break him from his meditation, but to no avail.

Back on the ground, Yumichika was unable to follow in his inner world. He still had no command of flashstep. He turned to Ruri'iro Kujaku, "Show me where he's taking me! Take me there!"

"Be patient, master—"

"Damn you, Ruri'iro Kujaku!" Yumichika actually turned and swung at him.

The reikon intercepted his punch with barely an effort. "If you help him now, you will ruin everything."

Ikkaku flew across the lake faster than he'd ever moved before. When he came to the western shore, he quickly began looking for a place where Yumichika would be safe. He spotted a small cave opening, no more than five feet high, but it might work. If he could get Yumichika inside, it would be easy to guard the entrance. The hollow, invisible though it might be, had already shown by its shadow that it was too big to be able to sneak past Ikkaku standing in so small an entrance.

He dropped down, made a quick look inside and, deciding the cave was safe enough, set Yumichika inside, trying one more time to rouse him, but to no avail. As he turned to face the outside, he took a heavy blow to the chest, knocking him backwards, but he grabbed onto the rim of the cave with his left hand and kept his feet and his place.

"_Use both hands!"_ his zanpakuto commanded. _"Use my scabbard, too! You've got two arms, right? Use them both! One to defend and one to attack!"_

Ikkaku drew his scabbard from beneath his obi and held it in his left hand.

"_Now stop looking for it," _Hoozukimaru went on. _"You can't see it. But it has substance, so when it moves, it displaces the air. Feel it. Smell it. It has a stench like a swamp mire!"_

Ikkaku tried to take his zanpakuto's words to heart. He kept his eyes opened but heightened his other senses. The one great advantage he had was that he only had to defend a small space, and he would not go after the hollow; so it must come after him.

And it did.

With a brutal single-mindedness that drove Ikkaku back several yards into the cave, where it became clear that the hollow could not reach, except with its hands; and as long as Ikkaku kept himself between Yumichika and the mouth of the cave, none of those four hands stood a chance of getting past him.

But if the hollow were acting upon instinct, it had at least a slim streak of intelligence; for at last, discerning it could not get past the slashing metal of the Shinigami's sword, it reached in with one hand and grabbed hold of him. The cave roof being so low, Ikkaku was unable to raise his sword high enough to bring it down with any force. Instead, he made a stabbing downward motion which, while it did penetrate some part of the hollow's hand or arm, was so powerful that it broke through and actually caught Ikkaku in the thigh.

He cried out in pain and followed up with several expletives as he pulled the sword free and stumbled back into the cave. But the instant he was just inside the entrance, he felt another hand close around his ankle and he was dragged out of the cave. Before he could direct another sword attack, he found himself being slammed down onto his back repeatedly, then thrashed side to side against the trees.

"_Master, you have to fight back! Stop messing around or you're going to die!"_

Messing around? _Messing around?!_ Did his zanpakuto really think he was messing around? Such a goading was, however, effective; for when Ikkaku was whipped back from striking one tree, he used the momentum to arch his body forward enough to score a hit that apparently severed the arm holding him. He flew through the woods, coming to land several yards away, as the sound of the hollow screaming in rage and pain met his ears. He got immediately to his feet and, running back, was struck suddenly with the horrid smell that his zanpakuto had spoken of. He listened for the sound of the voice and jumped up with his weapon at the ready, but instead of a downward slice, he jabbed forward where he detected the greatest odor, the vibration of the air caused by the scream, and the approximate location from which the sound emanated.

A moment later, the hollow appeared – only briefly before dissolving into black dust and floating upward to vanish against the sky.

Ikkaku gave a satisfied nod. "That'll teach you to mess with me." And before he could even sheath his sword, he collapsed face-down to the forest floor, unconscious.

* * *

Ruri'iro Kujaku stood up from where he'd been sitting at the crater's edge. "I can let you out now."

A glimmer of light turned into a doorway, on the other side of which, was the shrine, looking onto the back of the peacock throne.

Yumichika leapt up and was through the portal without hesitation. He turned and glared with warning at the slow-moving peacock. "I'll deal with you when I get back." He did not see or hear if Ruri'iro Kujaku gave any response, for he immediately returned to the outside world and was astonished to find himself prone inside a cave. He got to his feet and, standing in a crouch, made his way to the cave entrance. Several yards ahead and to his right, he saw Ikkaku lying unconscious on the ground.

"Ikkaku!" He dropped down beside him, distressed at the sight of so much blood, the bruised and torn body. "Ikkaku!"

Receiving no response and before he even realized what he was doing, he reached for his zanpakuto, but again . . . it was not there. He had not retrieved it from where it had fallen in the woods, and he could not risk leaving Ikkaku right now to go find it.

But . . . he might be able to carry Ikkaku to where the sword was lying. He had seen it inside Ruri'iro Kujaku's wall. He knew where to go. He pulled Ikkaku to his feet, hoping that he was not making his injuries worse, but certain he was; then, using flashstep, he found the place where his zanpakuto lay on the forest floor.

Picking it up, he began.

"Sakikirue—"

"_No, master."_

"Ruri'iro—"

"_No, master!"_

Before Yumichika could finish the command, a shadow fell over him and the next thing he knew, Iba was there beside him.

"What the hell happened?!"

Yumichika opened his mouth to answer but was shocked to hear Ikkaku's voice.

"I killed my first hollow . . . "

"Looks like you did it by the skin of your teeth," Iba replied, managing a wry grin. "You're one lucky bastard."

"This is—the second—time I've been . . . lucky," Ikkaku grinned, then he promptly passed out.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 Swans and Feathers

"_These times have passed and gone.  
It's time that we moved on  
into a new tomorrow.  
And leave behind the hurt  
the sorrow and the pain  
Cause tonight will never pass this way again."_

_Wherever You Go  
_John Lodge

* * *

"He's going to be okay. It may take a week or two, but he'll be fine."

Yumichika let out a breath of relief at Captain Unohana's words. He and the Squad Four captain were inside the hospital located near Squad Four's barracks, where Ikkaku had been brought directly from the living world. Iba had accompanied them back to Soul Society but returned almost immediately to the mission.

"Can I see him?"

Retsu Unohana looked at the disheveled fifth seat of Squad Eleven and smiled kindly. "Not right now. Tomorrow." Her eyes scanned up and down his body appraisingly. "Have you been seen yet? You don't look so well, yourself."

"Oh, I—I'm just a little banged up," Yumichika replied, turning red. "They did see me, and—"

"And told you to go back to your quarters and get some rest?" Unohana surmised.

Yumichika found it hard to look her in the eye. It took a forced effort. "They cleaned me up and . . . yes, they suggested I get some rest."

"But you wanted to stay with Madarame."

"Yes, captain."

Her eyes bore into his with the gentlest intensity. "Go to your quarters, Ayasegawa-san. You needn't worry. He'll be fine, and you can see him tomorrow."

Yumichika did not even think of arguing. No one argued with Captain Unohana.

He nodded his acknowledgment and left the hospital for Squad Eleven's area, which he found empty, for the squad was still out on its mission to the living world. Word had been sent to Captain Zaraki about the incident, but other than expressing disappointment at the fact that he himself had missed the opportunity to combat the hollow, the captain had displayed no compunction to check on his wounded men. Their injuries didn't sound all that serious, and so it was decided that he and the rest of the squad would remain out on patrol.

And that suited Yumichika just fine, for the truth was that he wanted to be alone and removed from everyone else for what he had to do. Going into his inner world to confront Ruri'iro Kujaku was not something he was looking forward to, but it was something that could not be put off for long.

Arriving at his quarters, he did not even pause to change his clothes before dropping into his meditation position. He did not want to wait one more second and risk losing his resolve.

* * *

"Well, now, don't you look like a man."

Ikkaku smiled at the sound of his zanpakuto's voice. He could hear the pride in the words.

"I told you I was strong," he replied, opening his eyes. He was lying under the ground, atop a make-shift pile of waxy, scratchy palm fronds. Above him, the jungle canopy was so thick, it barely let in the sunlight – or whatever kind of light illuminated his inner world. "Is this the best you could do? I'd think, after seeing me defeat a hollow, you could manage something better than a shitty bed like this."

"You have no sense of gratitude," the dragon growled with a grin.

"Oh, I'm grateful alright—" He cut himself off abruptly. "Is Yumichika okay?"

"He's fine," Hoozukimaru replied.

"Are you sure? He took a pretty hard blow—"

"I'm sure. He's got a few bumps and bruises, but he's better off than you are," came the answer, spoken with finality.

"In that case, let's get to it," Ikkaku said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "You owe me something."

The dragon nodded. "I guess I do."

"So, let's have it."

"Are you going to respect the power that comes with it? I'm not going to tell you if you're going to misuse it."

"Of course, I'm going to respect it. And you gave me your word. You told me if I defeated the hollow on my own, you'd tell me your name. You can't change the deal now," Ikkaku said.

"I'm not changing the deal. I just want to make sure you're going to take this seriously. Telling you my name will change everything about our relationship. If you're going to be my master, I want to make sure you deserve me."

Ikkaku regarded him with a solemn eye. "I will take it seriously, and if I don't deserve you now, I'll do everything I can to change that."

This was satisfactory.

"My name is Hoozukimaru."

Ikkaku stared for a moment, then the sober expression left his face and he burst out, "What the hell kind of name is that?!"

Hoozukimaru grimaced. "It's _my _name, you nitwit."

"How am I supposed to say that? Hoo-hooo—hoozoko-"

"Hoozukimaru."

"Oh, this is great! By the time I finish saying your name, the enemy will have already defeated me!"

"_And I thought Ruri'iro Kujaku was overly dramatic,"_ Hoozukimaru said to himself. "Then you'd better start practicing how to say it, because I won't respond the anything else from now on."

"I'll learn it," Ikkaku assured him. "And the sooner, the better. I'm ready to start learning shikai."

"O-ho! Just like that, huh? Well, if you're ready to start learning, I'm ready to start teaching."

Ikkaku pushed up into a sitting position, pushing past the pain. "Then what are we waiting for. I'm ready to go."

Hoozukimaru could not have been more proud. This was what he desired and expected of his master.

"So you are," he nodded with approval. "So you are."

* * *

Yumichika entered his inner world through the shrine.

Just like last time, the walls and ceiling and floor were covered with beautiful, colorful images. The magnificent peacock throne stood on its dais, twinkling in the light of flickering lamps. But it was what was behind the throne that made Yumichika freeze in his tracks.

The living scene displayed there was of a place he had not seen in many, many years.

It was a water meadow at the southeastern most corner of the Ulandsee, a small inlet off the main sea, surrounded by grassy natural lawns that gave way to the pine-covered floor of the primeval forest that rose up the gently sloping hillsides of that area. It had been a frequent stop for Yumichika when he had travelled to the southern villages to sell his wares or conduct less virtuous business. He'd often spent an afternoon there, lying alone beside the still water and listening to the sounds of the trees swaying.

Its appearance now was stunning, and stepping around the peacock throne, he was even more surprised to see Ruri'iro Kujaku lounging at the edge of the water, lying on his stomach and propped up on one elbow, reaching out with his other arm to stroke the back of a great white bird floating on the water's surface.

Yumichika had not been to that spot once after becoming aware of Ruri'iro Kujaku's existence, so how was it that the place was appearing on the wall now? Yumichika moved closer.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku."

The peacock did not take his eyes from the creature in front of him. "Isn't he splendid?" he enthused. "So graceful and elegant." He ran his hand down the smooth curve of the neck and along the lines of powerful wings. "I've never seen anything like him."

Yumichika was silent.

"I wonder . . . do you know if he's real? Is there really such a creature?" Ruri'iro went on, his voice dreamlike.

"He's a swan," Yumichika said flatly.

But the dullness of his master's voice did nothing to lessen Ruri'iro Kujaku's admiration. "Swan. Even the name is beautiful," he breathed. " Swan. _Swan_." After a pause, he asked whimsically, "Do you think he's more beautiful than me?"

Yumichika had to control his impatience and irritation. "I didn't come here to talk about that," he said calmly.

Ruri'iro Kujaku rolled over onto his back in the short grass, appearing as an unlikely sun worshipper. "No, I suppose not," he conceded.

"Tell me what this place is," Yumichika demanded. "These scenes . . . explain."

The azure peacock stretched his arms up into the air as if he were reaching for an unseen prize, then dropped them back down into the grass above his head. There was something very alluring and seductive about the movement, yet it was clearly done without the intention of provoking.

"I don't know what it is," he replied.

"Tell me what you do know," Yumichika insisted.

"The ceiling, the floor, the other walls: those scenes are always the same," Ruri'iro explained. "They change through the seasons, and they come alive when I enter or go near; but the scene itself never changes. Only the animals in the scene change, and that happens when it's alive." A pause. "This wall is different. I can make this one whatever I want it to be. And it's funny, because I don't even remember this place, but I must have seen it at one time or else it wouldn't be here. Did you used to come to this place, master?"

But Yumichika was not interested in answering questions. He only wanted answers.

"How do you make them come alive? They're only paintings."

"I don't know. They just do."

"Why couldn't I pick you up when I was in there? Why couldn't I feel Ikkaku's reiatsu? Or the hollow's?" Yumichika went on.

Again, Ruri'iro Kujaku's answer was hardly helpful. "Because you were in here, and I was out there. This place is like a . . . a world within a world . . . within a world. The wall is within your inner world. Your inner world is within the outside world. And even the outside world has countless intersecting dimensions."

"You trapped me in there," Yumichika accused. "You tricked me into entering the wall, and then you trapped me."

"I let you go—"

"Come out, Ruri'iro Kujaku."

The reikon sat up and regarded his master warily.

"Come out," Yumichika repeated.

Ruri'iro Kujaku got slowly to his feet. "Are you going to punish me?"

Yumichika drew in a deep breath. "Yes, if I can."

"I don't want to be put in a cage again," Ruri'iro protested, and he sounded nervous.

"I don't even know if I can," Yumichika sighed. "The other two times, it happened without my intending it. It was a burst of emotion each time that did it. I'm angry at you right now, but I don't feel that kind of anger or fear. I don't think I could cage you right now, even if I wanted to."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes," Yumichika replied right away. "And if I knew how, I would." He looked frustrated and exasperated. "What else should I do with you? I can't control you. You do as you please. You lie to me, trick me, hold me prisoner. You use my senses and even tap into my thoughts and emotions. I just—I don't want to deal with you anymore. I'm tired of having to always wonder if what I say or do is going to set you off. Honestly, you are the most spoiled, egotistical, disobedient brat I've ever known, and I just don't want you anymore."

"Don't say that, master—"

But Yumichika's own words had empowered him and given him the courage to speak what he was feeling at the moment.

"Maybe this is the most suitable punishment for you – to know how much I despise you. You want me to feel a certain way towards you, but you've done nothing to earn it. I never wanted a zanpakuto to begin with, but somehow I ended up with one. And I certainly never wanted anything like you in my life. Now, since I can't get rid of you, all I want from you is your obedience. And if you can't give me that, then I don't know what to do. You know you're more powerful than I am. You know you could reveal yourself to the whole world any time you want to. So, why don't you? Why don't you do it and let's just get this overwith?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku reeled from his master's words, yet he was not foolish. He knew if he were to attempt to manifest in the outside world, that would be enough to rouse Yumichika's wrath and send him into a cage for perhaps all of eternity. Instead, he took a deep breath and stepped out of the wall. The images disappeared behind him.

"Punish me however you see fit," he said.

Yumichika stared up at him with a stony expression. "I've already done what I can." He turned to leave.

"You used to love me—" Ruri'iro began.

Yumichika stopped. "When did I ever tell you I loved you?" he asked without looking back.

Ruri'iro Kujaku could not answer, and Yumichika knew why.

"I never told you that," Yumichika stated. "I never told you that because I've never loved you. I was just a stupid victim of what you do best. I was seduced. That's your specialty, and I fell for it. I'm not falling for it anymore."

"If I'm any of those things you said, master, it's because I get them from you," Ruri'iro replied in a quiet voice. "I'm a reflection of your soul."

"Then maybe it's time for me to change my image," Yumichika replied, "Because when I look at you, I hate what I see, Fuji Kujaku." With that, he departed.

Left alone, Ruri'iro Kujaku could not account for what he was feeling. His master's words had been devastating. The hurt was almost more than the peacock could bear; and yet, he felt dry inside. There was no emotional wellspring rising up and threatening to overwhelm him. The low rumble of anger and hatred rolled through his body, yet he felt no compulsion to revenge or violence.

"I despise you, too, master," he said to the silence.

But inside, where he should have felt the conviction of those words, he felt . . .

Nothing.

The need to protect himself had made him numb.

* * *

"Why don't you go back to your room and relax? You've been here every day for the past three days. Take a day off and just . . . relax," Ikkaku implored.

"I don't mind spending the time here with you," Yumichika replied. He was sitting at Ikkaku's bedside in the hospital, looking at an old copy of The Seireitei Newsletter. It was early morning and he had just arrived for his daily visit, which tended to last all day.

"But I mind," Ikkaku stated. "I need my privacy, Yumichika, some time alone. And besides, have you looked at yourself lately? You look like crap."

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do! You look exhausted, and you're . . . you look like a slob. A slob! You, Yumichika. That's not right. Take a day off and go take care of yourself. I'll be alright. Come on, do as I ask," Ikkaku pressed.

Yumichika frowned, but there was nothing inappropriate about the request. Of course, Ikkaku wanted some time alone. He should give it to him.

"If you insist. Do you need anything before I go?"

"Not a thing."

"Okay," Yumichika said getting to his feet. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

Ikkaku watched him leave. It was time to enter his inner world.

Time to meet with Hoozukimaru.

* * *

Yumichika crossed the empty grounds of Squad Eleven, feeling as if he were coming to the end of the longest walk ever. Now that he had been coerced into leaving Ikkaku's bedside, he felt as if he'd suddenly been given permission to feel the exhaustion that had been chasing him since returning from the world of the living.

Entering his room, he headed directly to the washroom.

He started the water running for his bath, discarded his filthy uniform, then went to look in the mirror. What he saw shocked him.

Ikkaku had been right. As impossible as it seemed, he did look like crap.

His face was pale, but the bruises from the fight with the hollow were highly visible along one cheek, and the entire right side of jaw was abraded, just beginning to scab over. Very unattractive. His eyes were sunken and dull. His hair – good grief! – his hair was matted, tangled and just plain dirty.

Moving down, he was stunned to see his body still begrimed, and suddenly it occurred to him that he hadn't washed . . . in three days!

Three days!

Of all the things under the sun, how could he have forgotten to look after his appearance? Or at least, simple hygiene.

Well, he would take care of all of that now. He was ready for a good soak and then a nice, long sleep. Now, even his stomach was telling him that it, too, had been neglected; but that could wait.

He went to test the water when he heard someone call out his name. He recognized the voice immediately. He wrapped his dressing robe around him and went back into his room.

"Mendalo," he smiled, truly happy to see the sword smith.

"I just heard about what happened," Mendalo said, crossing the room and going immediately for a warm embrace, which Yumichika gladly returned. "I came here earlier, but you weren't here. So, I checked at the hospital and saw Madarame. He said you had just left, that he kicked you out because you were exhausted."

"We must have missed each other in passing," Yumichika concluded.

Mendalo held him at arm's length. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You look terrible—if you don't mind my saying so," Mendalo said, realizing perhaps his observation had been too tactless.

Yumichika was not offended. "I know. Ikkaku said the same thing this morning. I guess I just wasn't paying attention."

"You not paying attention to your looks? Wow, what's next? Madarame taking up ballet?"

Yumichika gave a soft laugh. "I was about to take a bath and then get some sleep."

"I can come back later," Mendalo offered.

"No, no, I'd like you to stay. After all, I might fall asleep in the bath, and you'll have to keep me from drowning," Yumichika quipped.

Mendalo nodded. "I'll stay."

In fact, Yumichika did fall asleep in the bath, one arm draped over the side, his hair still full of suds, sponge resting on his chest. Mendalo finished the job for him then helped him into bed. He was about to take a seat against the wall when Yumichika spoke in a tired voice.

"Will you lie here with me?"

Mendalo regarded him with a dubious grin. "Is that such a good idea?"

"You can lie on top of the covers," Yumichika replied. "I just—I want to feel someone close to me. It's been—it hasn't been a very good past few days."

"No funny stuff?"

Yumichika laughed softly. "No funny stuff."

Mendalo, remaining fully dressed, lay down on top of the covers; and when Yumichika turned to him much in the manner of a child seeking comfort, he put his arm over him and drew him closer. He was surprised to discover that Yumichika had put the dampers on his reiatsu, even more so than usual; and he credited it to him as a determination to control his allure under difficult circumstances, for the attraction was still there between them. It was a conscious decision they had both made to put that attraction aside.

And it was not easy.

* * *

"Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku forced a smile at the sound of Hoozukimaru's voice. Perhaps it wasn't accurate to say that he forced the smile, for he was genuinely happy that Hoozukimaru was there; but the weight of his last meeting with his master weighed heavily on him. Hoozukimaru had not been into his world in the past three days, and having to deal with grief on his own had been exhausting and depressing.

He was sitting on the cliff above the sea, the wind ruffling his train of feathers and reddening his cheeks.

"I like it when you say my real name."

"Well, it's not an easy name to say," Hoozukimaru replied, sitting down beside him.

"You're one to talk."

"You're right, as I've been recently reminded," the dragon replied, dropping a hint with the hope of leading into a discussion of the most recent development with his master. But when Ruri'iro Kujaku did not inquire, he knew why and he felt guilty. He could only imagine what the azure peacock had done to keep Yumichika out of the fray with the hollow, giving Madarame the opportunity to gain the defeat on his own. It was odd, because it was not something Hoozukimaru had discussed with Ruri'iro Kujaku: somehow, they had both known that it was crucial to prevent Yumichika from stealing the victory from Ikkaku's hands, a strange sort of meeting of the minds across the distance from one inner world to the other. Madarame had to win this one, and he had to do it alone. Holding back Yumichika was not something easily done, but Ruri'iro had managed it, and the dragon had not even thanked him for it yet. He'd not been once in the peacock's world since before the battle, and so he had no idea how Rurui'iro had accomplished it. But now that he took a moment, he could feel some small part of what his friend was suffering, and he remarked to himself that what he was sensing must only be the tip of the spear.

"You okay?" he asked at length.

Ruri'iro nodded. "Yes." He played absently with the fine coverings on his arms. "I've missed you."

"I'm sorry. I've been busy training with my master."

"Ah," came the neutral reply.

"I told him my name," Hoozukimaru announced. "That was the deal I made with him. I told him that if he defeated the hollow on his own, I would tell him. And he earned it." A pause. "I have you to thank for it. You kept Little Pretty from interfering." A pause. "And I know it must have cost you."

"It didn't cost me anything," Ruri'iro replied. "It didn't make things any worse than they already were. He already hated me. He just reiterated it."

The cool indifference in his voice did not fool Hoozukimaru, and he felt terrible that he was partly to blame. Ruri'iro Kujaku had risked incurring the wrath of his master in order to help advance the relationship between Hoozukimaru and Ikkaku.

"So, uh . . . how did you do it? How did you keep him away?" he asked tepidly.

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked out over the sea as a gust of wind ruffled his feathers. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters," Hoozukimaru insisted. "It matters to me. If you hadn't found a way to stop him, we both know he would have come to my master's rescue and—well, that would have messed things up between them and between me and my master."

"I trapped him inside the wall," Ruri'iro answered. "I wasn't sure it would work. He'd never been inside the wall before. But I got him to come in, and then he couldn't get out on his own."

"And he didn't trap you in a cage?" Hoozukimaru was surprised.

"No. I don't know if that's something he could do inside the wall. There are no cages there, and . . . well, he was angry enough to take a swing at me, but he didn't imprison me," Ruri'iro explained.

"Little Pretty tried to hit you?" the dragon almost laughed at the idea.

"That was the least offensive thing he did." After a moment, he went on. "Once I knew Madarame had defeated the hollow, I set him free. And I don't care if I ever see him again. He'll make use of me when he needs me, and that's fine."

The dragon looked closely at the averted cheek. "Does he know why you did it?"

"I didn't tell him," Ruri'iro answered. "It wouldn't have made a difference. He doesn't care why I disobeyed him. He only cares that I disobeyed. He made his feelings about me very clear, and I . . . I'll probably never see him in my world again. I don't want to see him again. I want to be free of him. I've wanted that for a long time."

"You know that's never going to happen," the dragon said gently. "You belong to him, and he belongs to you."

"He doesn't want me. He said so. There was a time when he wished I were some other kind of zanpakuto, but at least he wanted me. Now he doesn't want me at all anymore."

Hoozukimaru frowned. He was growing worried by the azure peacock's lack of emotion, the dullness in his voice, the flat expression on his face.

"And to be honest," Ruri'iro Kujaku went on, "I learned something about myself that day." He stared out into the darkness. "I made a choice, and it surprised even me. I had shown my master where I was. I could have set him free and he could have retrieved me and gone to help you. That would have made hi m happy with me . . . for a time, at least. I could have done as he wanted me to do. Instead . . . I chose you. Somehow, I knew it was important to you to keep my master away, and I chose you over him." He turned to look curiously at Hoozukimaru. "How about that?" He sounded genuinely perplexed.

Hoozukimaru found a reason to smile. "I don't think you chose me over him. You chose me over yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"You wanted me to be happy even though you knew it was going to cause you more pain," the dragon replied. "That's . . . not something I'd have expected from you."

Ruri'iro puffed up. "Why not?"

"Eh, cause you're pretty self-absorbed—"

"I am not!"

Hoozukimaru was actually relieved to hear the animation in his voice. "Yes, you are. And I like that about you—most of the time, anyway. You do get a little over-the-top sometimes; but what you did back there for me and my master . . . that was a good thing. And I promise, someday I'll make it up to you."

"You owe me nothing."

"Oh, but I do," came the emphatic answer. "Because of you, my master and I have started along the path. And I can already tell . . . he's going to be a great warrior. I can feel it."

Ruri'iro Kujaku gave a wan smile. "I believe that." His words carried conviction and perhaps a bit of sadness – sadness at the recognition that what Hoozukimaru sensed of Madarame's potential greatness, Ruri'iro had lost in his relationship with his own master.

With Yumichika, the only potential was for more strife.

* * *

Yumichika awoke to the sound of distant thunder and the smell of rain in the air. He opened his eyes onto a dim daylight. He indulged in a luxuriant stretch.

"I was starting to wonder if you would ever wake up." It was Mendalo's voice.

Yumichika had forgotten he was there. He rolled over to see him sitting on some pillows near the cracked screen, where the light was only slightly better. He was playing a card game called ZinZin.

"What time is it?"

"Almost three in the afternoon," Mendalo answered, gathering up his cards and getting to his feet. He approached the bed. "You must have really needed the sleep. You look better already."

"I feel better," Yumichika replied. "Have you been here the whole time?"

"Yeah."

"You must be starving," Yumichika ventured.

"Not really. I don't have your spirit energy, Yumichika," Mendalo said. "But I could use a bite."

"Good, because I _am_ starving." Yumichika seemed to listen for a moment. "Is it raining?"

"Not yet," Mendalo replied. "You can hear a storm coming. It's been thundering for the past thirty minutes or so, and the sky is black from end to end, but no rain yet. If you hurry and get ready, we might be able to beat it."

Yumichika got up and went into the washroom to splash some water on his face. "You have someplace in mind?"

"Yes, actually. There's a nice place outside the Gotei 13 area but still in the Seireitei, heading west. It's not too far, a forty-minute walk, maybe," Mendalo replied.

"And you don't think we'll get caught in the rain?"

"You didn't seem to mind the snow," the sword smith quipped. "What's a little rain?"

Yumichika acknowledged with a chuckle as he came out of the washroom and headed to his wardrobe, pulling out one of his uniforms.

"You don't have to wear your uniform," Mendalo noted. "You're off-duty. You can wear something casual, if you want. It's not a formal place."

"Oh, well, Ikkaku likes me to wear my uniform," Yumichika replied, coloring slightly. "He doesn't like me drawing too much attention to myself. Although I hate how dull this thing looks . . . "

Mendalo decided it was best to say nothing more on the subject. He waited for Yumichika to dress and then they set off.

The restaurant turned out to be closer to an hour's distant, but they had both moved at a fairly leisurely pace, even with the clouds threatening ominously to let loose at any moment. Still, the trip was made with not even a drop falling.

The meal passed slowly, interspersed with amiable conversation as Yumichika recounted the events of his first mission to the living world and Mendalo listened in rapt attention.

An hour later, they emerged into a heavy and oppressive late afternoon.

"It feels like it's going to start any second now," Yumichika stated as they stepped out of the restaurant onto the cobbled side street. "I could use flashstep."

"And carry me? I don't think so," Mendalo deferred with a laugh.

"It wouldn't be hard—"

"Let's walk," Mendalo insisted. "I'm not made of sugar. I won't melt."

They walked side-by-side, cutting through the alleyways and coming at last to a dirt lane that led through a large park. The road was lined on both sides by tall, over-arching trees that created a tunnel-like effect. The trees were filled with red and yellow seed pods just waiting for the first strong wind to break them loose and carry them away.

The two men were halfway down the lane when the wind began to gust. It came so abruptly and violently, intensified by being concentrated in the narrow channel created by the trees, that it pushed both of them from behind and brought down a shower of the seed pods which felt like tiny pebbles peppering them.

"This is wild!" Yumichika laughed. "I feel like I could jump up and the wind would take me!"

"Well, don't try it! It just might!" Mendalo warned, beaming a warm smile at him. "Come on, we'd better—"

His voice was drowned out by the deafening boom of thunder directly overhead at the same moment that a flash of light blinded them for an instant.

"Let's run!"

By the time they came to the end of the tree line, the rain was coming down in sheets. The thunder and lightning were breaking all around them. And ahead of them was an expanse of nearly two hundred yards of open parkland, a few trees here and there, a small brook quickly swelling its size, and, luckily for them, a green and white gazebo almost exactly halfway across the lawn.

"We'd better go for it," Mendalo suggested.

"Are you sure you don't want me to use flashstep?" Yumichika asked.

"What fun would that be?"

"Okay . . . " Yumichika broke first. He was fast even without flashstep, his motion fluid and smooth. Even so, by the time he reached the gazebo, he was soaked clear through.

Mendalo was only a few seconds behind him, and now that they were both in the relative safety of the gazebo, Mendalo, turning to Yumichika, was delighted with what he saw.

"This is a new look," he stated, reaching out and picking a red seed pod out of Yumichika's hair.

"Oh—good grief!" Yumichika raised his hands to find his hair full of the things, red and yellow. "Oh, there must be thousands of them!"

"Only hundreds," Mendalo joked, then as Yumichika began pulling them gingerly free of the entwining black strands, the sword smith took hold of his wrists and drew his arms down. "You know . . . they actually look nice. Adds a little color."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure I look wonderful with a bunch of seed pods stuck in my hair," Yumichika said wryly.

Mendalo was suddenly serious. "You do." He paused and released Yumichika's wrists. "There's something I wanted to tell you."

Yumichika waited for him to go on.

"I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" This was not what Yumichika had expected.

"Yes, in the next day or two," Mendalo explained. "My job here is done. The destroyed zanpakuto have been mostly replaced. The new forge is complete. It's time for me to go."

Yumichika was still stunned. "I knew this day would come, but I never really thought about it."

"I was going to wait until you got back from patrol. I couldn't leave without saying good-bye. And now you're back, so . . . I didn't want to put it off."

"I wish you weren't going, but I understand you have more to your life than just what you do here," Yumichika said. "I'm going to miss you."

"Well, don't forget, I'll be back in the fall for my regular business visit," Mendalo told him. "We'll see each other again." He looked away for a moment. "But it's not going to be easy to leave you. Even though we'd been keeping our distance, that . . . that didn't change my feelings about you."

Yumichika was almost apologetic. "I did what you suggested and I'm trying to be the best friend that I can to Ikkaku. He told me about the Capchetins and I think . . . I think there's still a big part of him that desires that way of life. I'll be there to help him with whatever conclusion he comes to. So, I'm grateful to you for your advice."

At length, Mendalo spoke in a measured voice. "You know, I've wondered every day since then whether or not it was wise for me to give you that advice. I don't what's going to happen with you and Madarame. But I do know that . . . well, I love you, and . . . . " His voice trailed off.

"You love me?" Yumichika could hardly believe his ears. Other than Ruri'iro Kujaku, no one in Soul Society had ever said those words to him.

Mendalo gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. Me, of all people." He swallowed. "So, you see, it's a good thing that it's time for me to go. I know what you want, and I know you'll never be able to love me—"

"I do love you," Yumichika cut him off. He smiled gently. "But I can't have that kind of love for two people at the same time. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair to either of you."

"I know," Mendalo nodded. "I probably shouldn't have told you, but . . . it's been weighing on my mind. I didn't want to leave without telling you."

"I'm glad you did."

Mendalo made a visible movement of resolve. "You won't see me again before I leave. It's hard enough as it is."

Yumichika craned his head up and kissed him tenderly on the corner of his mouth. "Fall will be here before we know it," he offered optimistically. "And in the meantime, I won't forget the kindness you've shown me."

Mendalo stepped back. "I, uh, I think I'll chance the rain. It's better for me to take off now." Before leaving, he turned once more to face Yumichika. "You're a good man. I know that."

Yumichika watched him bound into the blowing downpour, and suddenly, he felt very alone.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting a long time for you."

Hoozukimaru would not be hurried by his master's impatience. "I'm here now."

"Where were you?" Ikkaku demanded. When Hoozukimaru elected not to answer, Ikkaku supplied his own answer. "You were in Fuji Kujaku's world again, weren't you? You spend a lot of time over there."

Hoozukimaru shrugged. "I figured he might need me. You know, he's having a rough time with his master right now."

"They've been having a rough time for years now," Ikkaku replied dismissively. "It's their nature. They're both so much a like they can't help butt heads."

The dragon squinted. "Have you ever _met _Fuji Kujaku?"

"I've seen him in action—"

"That's not what I asked. Have you met him? Have you ever met the zanpakuto spirit of Fuji Kujaku? Like you've met me?" Hoozukimaru was clearly challenging him.

"Well, of course not. How would I be able to do that? I can't go into Yumichika's inner world like you can," Ikkaku snapped.

"Then how can you talk about what Fuji Kujaku is like?"

"He's a reflection of Yumichika's soul, isn't he? Just like you're a reflection of mine. And to hear Yumichika talk about him, he mightaswell be talking about himself," Ikkaku answered. "They're both narcissists who always want to be the center of attention. Well, there can be only one center, and they're not willing to share it with each other."

Hoozukimaru scowled. How he wanted to tell his master the truth about his victory against the hollow. How he wanted to reveal that the only reason Yumichika hadn't intervened was because Ruri'iro Kujaku had held him back, much to his own detriment. Yes, Ikkaku had beaten the hollow through his own strength and ability; but he'd not have even had the chance to try his hand had Ruri'iro Kujaku not held back Yumichika.

But Hoozukimaru knew better than to divulge the details. To do so would only cheapen the victory and make his master angry at Yumichika for withholding the truth. And that would only make things worse between Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku. As far as Ikkaku was concerned, Yumichika had been lying unconscious on the forest floor for the longest part of the fight, and Hoozukimaru would not be the one to tell him otherwise.

And so the dragon held his peace.

"But they're not like you and me," Ikkaku went on. "Yeah, we're alike, but we both like to fight, and that works out good. I'm ready for another go."

Hoozukimaru held out his hand and a sword materialized. "You don't have to ask me twice."

* * *

Yumichika felt like a wet rat when he finally plodded into his quarters nearly an two hours after Mendalo had left him.

He'd waited a good thirty minutes inside the gazebo, but the rain had not let up even a bit. He'd grown tired of waiting for it to stop, so he'd decided to brave the deluge and simply accept the fact that he was going to get drenched one way or another.

He had decided to walk, thinking that he could use the time to clear his thoughts and come to terms with the heaviness that Mendalo's departure had laid upon his shoulders. He crossed the Squad Eleven area, empty and desolate with the squad still being deployed; and coming to his quarters, he headed straight for the washroom, shedding sopping clothes as he did so.

He started a bath then turned to look at himself in the mirror.

Immediately, he felt a twinge of humor. His reflection was whimsical, for his hair was still filled with the red and yellow seed pods. He'd forgotten they were there, but now he could see why Mendalo had found the look so endearing. They did add color . . . and they were showy. Surely, Ikkaku would not begrudge him a little flamboyance.

He began picking the pods out of his hair, saving the most perfect red one and the most perfect yellow one. He smiled to himself. After his bath and as soon as the rain let up, he would head over to his favorite clothier with the two gems. He had an idea.

* * *

Ikkaku was sitting up in bed, drinking the worst cup of tea he'd ever had and wishing Yumichika were there to fetch him some decent food.

It was early morning, just after sunrise. And outside, the storm was still raging. It seemed that one string after another of thunderstorms had lined up neatly to pass over the Seireitei, and that suited Ikkaku just fine. He loved the storms: the more violent, the better.

There was a knock at his door, and he looked up to see Mendalo standing in the doorway.

"Mendalo."

"Can I come in?"

Ikkaku waved him inside. "Did you find Yumichika the other day? He hasn't been back since I kicked him out."

"I found him," Mendalo replied coming to stand next to the bed. "He was in his quarters. You were right: he did look pretty ragged, but I think he's doing a lot better now."

"Did you make him eat something? I don't think he ate anything for three days straight."

"He ate."

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Mendalo spoke again. "I came here to say good-bye. I'm leaving this afternoon."

"You're leaving? Why?"

"My job is done," Mendalo answered. "I was called in to do a specific task. That task is done, and now I'm heading out. I won't be back until the fall delivery is due."

Ikkaku was briefly silent. "Have you told Yumichika?"

Mendalo nodded. "I told him yesterday."

Ikkaku seemed to fumble for words, but at last he said, "I guess I owe you a lot. You're the one who led me to Captain Zaraki. You're the one who told me my sword was a zanpakuto. I've learned to communicate with him now." A smile tugged at his mouth. "His name is Hoozukimaru. I . . . I'd have thrown him aside if it hadn't been for you."

"You might have tried to throw him away, but somehow he would have ended up coming back to you," Mendalo replied. "A zanpakuto is meant to be with its master."

"I guess we've all found where we're meant to be," Ikkaku offered somewhat superficially. He wasn't given to deep, thoughtful expression. "I have you to thank for that."

Mendalo looked at him, wondering how any man could be so blind. "I only provided the information," he stated. "Yumichika could have chosen not to pass it on to you. He's the reason you found Zaraki; not me."

Ikkaku only nodded, and it made the sword smith feel a desperate sense of obligation.

"Can I tell you one thing?" he said, not meaning it as a question at all. "Don't be a fool."

Ikkaku could not even pretend not to understand. He did not take offense. He did not recoil at the warning.

"I try not to be," he said quietly. "But you know that being around him . . . it makes us fools of us all." A pause. "And it's not his fault. He's who he is. And I don't want him to be any other way."

"Just make sure you never forget that," Mendalo admonished. "He deserves better than anything you or I have to offer. " Then, before taking his leave, "I'll see you in November."

* * *

Ikkaku burst out laughing.

Yumichika stood with a simper on his face. "You sound like a hyena."

"Oh my—oh my—oh my god! What the—that is so—" Ikkaku could not even get the words out.

"Beautiful?" Yumichika supplied in a droll humor. "Stunning? Breath-taking?

For several seconds, Ikkaku could not find his voice, except to squeal his hysterics. At last, he asked, "What—what are those? Feathers?" And then he began to laugh again.

Yumichika ignored the buffoonery. "Yes. I had them specially dyed these colors by—"

"But why? Where—where did you ever get—oh man—where did you ever get such an idea?" Ikkaku asked, using the back of his hand to wipe tears from his eyes.

"I got tired of the plain black and white of the uniform," Yumichika explained. "And I wanted to add some color."

"But why feathers? On your eyes? And why—why red and yellow?! You look like a bird trying to attract a mate?!" Ikkaku bellowed, his voice turning red.

"I got the idea from some trees—"

"Trees?!"

"Yes, and this isn't all. I'm working on a nice wrist and neck piece—"

"What?!"

"It will be orange—"

"Yumichika!"

"It's a knit pattern—"

"Yumichika, you can't do that to your uniform!" Ikkaku blurted out.

"Of course, I can. Captain Kyoraku wears a pink kimono over his haori. Captain Komamura wears a mask. Captain Kurotsuchi—"

"They're all captains! They can do whatever they want," Ikkaku replied.

"So? I'm beautiful. Doesn't that mean I can do whatever I want?" Yumichika asked, only partly tongue-in-cheek.

"Are you trying to make me rip open my stitches?" Ikkaku gasped, trying very hard not to laugh again.

Yumichika tossed his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm only interested in increasing my beauty."

Ikkaku took a few seconds to catch his breath, but every time he looked at Yumichika's newly adorned face, he felt the roll of amusement coming back up from his belly. Still, in a strange way, it was fascinating and certainly eye-catching, although Yumichika had always been a magnet for admiration when it came to his looks.

"You could be wearing a sack cloth and still be beautiful, Yumichika," Ikkaku managed without a single guffaw. "But it this look makes you happy, then I'll get used to it."


	18. Chapter 18

_**Dear Reader, after this chapter, we leap over the whole manga plotline and go straight to the zanpakuto rebellion arc. That will probably be two or three chapters, and then onto Part III. Peace, TK**_

Chapter 18 Fifty-three Years

"_One more time to live,  
And I have made it mine."_

One More Time to Live  
John Lodge

* * *

"I hear she's considered the most beautiful of all the zanpakuto."

"What? That's absurd. Where did you hear that?"

"Oh, I just overheard my master talking to some other Shinigami, and they were saying they've never seen a more beautiful shikai."

Ruri'iro Kujaku made a scoffing, derisive sound at this explanation. "I find that hard to believe. I didn't notice anything particularly beautiful about her. She was rather plain, if you ask me."

"Well, compared to you, _everyone_ is plain," Hoozukimaru said with a one-sided grin. "You're pretty showy."

"Even if I were the dullest, drabbest creature in all existence, I'd still be more beautiful than she is," came the brash reply.

The dragon's grin broadened. "You're sounding a little jealous there, Flashy."

Ruri'iro Kujaku had been lying in the center of the bed in the maroon room, indulging in the fine satins and luxurious silks. Now, he deigned to open one eye with a sense of superiority that was completely genuine. "Have you taken leave of your senses? Look at me." This, as he stretched and posed and displayed his feather-covered body as if it were a sculpture of finest marble, open to public scrutiny and admiration. "What have I to be jealous of? One thing I'm sure of is my own beauty. I'm not worried about anyone surpassing me."

"And you're so humble about it, too," Hoozukimaru teased.

"Huh, I gave up humility and modesty a long time ago," Ruri'iro replied. As if to drive the point home, he slowly turned and wriggled through the sheets, wrapping his body like an enticing package from the waist down. "I can show off if I want to. The only one who ever sees me is you."

"I'm not complaining," Hoozukimaru stated, adding, "The only reason they say she's most beautiful is because they've never seen your full release."

The tiniest bit of a frown cracked the eroticism of the kujaku's exterior. "And they probably never will."

Hoozukimaru did not want that sliver of sadness to gain purchase. He would not let Ruri'iro Kujaku nurture it. "So, it's our secret," he said, walking over on his knees to sit beside his companion. "Besides, maybe I don't want to share that part of you with anyone else."

This replaced the nascent frown with a beam of joy, as Hoozukimaru knew it would. Such possessive flattery had worked wonders for the past fifty-three years.

Fifty-three years.

Fifty-three years, their masters had been Shinigami. Fifty-three years, the two zanpakuto had navigated the strange situation of being specialized weapons in the hands of two very different souls.

A lot had happened in that time, both for the good and the bad. And while Hoozukimaru tried to keep the focus on the good, he could not deny the reality of the bad. If he let himself dwell on it, he knew he would become angry. And if he let Ruri'iro Kujaku wallow in it, he would lose the peacock to bitterness, or even worse, despondency.

For while Hoozukimaru had grown not only in physical strength, but also in prowess and power, strengthening the bond with his master, the same could not be said for Ruri'iro Kujaku. There was no denying that the Azure Peacock had grown insanely powerful. Over the years, Yumichika had used his zanpakuto's full release plenty of times, always where no one could see him; and the spirit energy Ruri'iro had absorbed had swelled his reservoir of power to such an extent that the pool in the peacock cave had long ago overflowed its boundaries, and now much of the inner world was flooded, creating rivers that fed the dark sea. Ruri'iro Kujaku could not even get to the cave of the peacocks anymore, for the tunnel was impassable. The birds that had once resided inside on the cliffs had abandoned their perches with the rising water and now could be found here and there, strutting through the open spaces where the water had not yet reached. And being that Yumichika now only rarely expended any energy, there was no outlet for the deluge that was building.

And this was not good. It was not good at all for Ruri'iro Kujaku. Hoozukimaru had noticed right away that it was damaging for the peacock to do nothing but take with no call to give. The resentment Ruri'iro Kujaku had already felt for his master had started to fester and decay into a loathing disguised as indifference. To have so much power and no way to expend it was tantamount to torture.

Hoozukimaru would not sit by and watch such suffering, so he had decided in the privacy of his own mind to offer himself as the sole recipient of the kujaku's energy. Whatever miniscule bit he could absorb, he would absorb. When Ruri'iro Kujaku was bursting at the seams with seductive allure, the dragon permitted himself to be object of the game, as far as was practical.

It seemed that every time the peacock adjusted to the new level of reiatsu surging through his world, Yumichika would find reason to release him and absorb more spirit energy. It was a never-ending battle between a zanpakuto and a master who had made himself unavailable to that zanpakuto.

But it was a battle that Hoozukimaru was uniquely and ideally suited to. He was just gruff enough to prevent Ruri'iro Kujaku from soaking in his own pity, sly enough to coax him into playfulness, and tender enough to soothe and comfort when needed. And it seemed that the need for the latter had grown less and less frequent as the years had passed, although that was not necessarily a good thing. The sadness that had warranted the comfort had given way to the anger that now demanded distraction and diversion.

Hoozukimaru looked at the dazzling creature lying before him, gazing up at him with affection, smiling in a way that could dispel the darkness. And he wondered why.

Why had this beautiful, amazing being been so cruelly neglected by his master?

This was what the dragon did not want to think about, but it was pushing in on his thoughts and he was hard-pressed to stop it.

Fifty-three years. Yumichika had not stepped foot into Ruri'iro Kujaku's world in fifty-three years. He had not seen the spirit of his zanpakuto in fifty-three years! And Ruri'iro Kujaku had not dared to venture into the outside world on his own without his master's permission during that time. Fear of being imprisoned had kept him reluctantly obedient, and yet he'd made it clear to Hoozukimaru that his entire world now felt like a prison. It was only tolerable when the dragon came to see him.

And therein lay the rest of the problem.

Hoozukimaru had a tremendous relationship with Ikkaku. Based on brute strength, a love of fighting, their mutual laziness when not fighting, and a shared penchant for insulting each other, they had quickly progressed through shikai into learning bankai. Most Shinigami needed at least ten years to learn bankai; but both Ikkaku and his zanpakuto had cast off that idea as ridiculous and the realm of lesser Shinigami who didn't know how to get things gone. Within five years, Ikkaku had mastered bankai. And while Hoozukimaru was proud of this accomplishment, he spoke little of it to Ruri'iro Kujaku, for he knew it would only open the wound wider. The Azure Peacock had been very happy for him on the achievement, although there was one aspect the flighty bird could not quite understand. Madarame did not want anyone else to know he had achieved bankai. Only Yumichika was privy to that knowledge. By all accounts, Hoozukimaru's bankai form was impressive, even awe-inspiring. Yet, Madarame kept it hidden. Why on earth Hoozukimaru was so content to be kept under wraps was something Ruri'iro Kujaku simply could not grasp. So Madarame didn't want anyone to know about his achieving bankai? He didn't want to be pulled from Zaraki's squad and forced to serve as a vice captain or even a captain in another squad. Those seemed foolish reasons to hide such a power. But it was clear that Hoozukimaru was not put off by it.

The only drawback to the entire situation was that Ikkaku liked to spar with his zanpakuto – often. The novelty of crossing swords and matching flesh on flesh had not worn off for either of them. Between blowing off duty from time to time and taking what could only be described as marathon naps, Ikkaku spent as much time as he could in his inner world.

And Hoozukimaru loved being with him.

The time Hoozukimaru spent with his master was time he could not spend with Ruri'iro Kujaku; and although the peacock never complained, Hoozukimaru knew he was lonely without him. How many times had he entered Ruri'iro Kujaku's world, now even more easily done with the expansion of the lake, only to find his friend engaged within one of the shrine's walls – the only place that seemed to bring the peacock any peace in the absence of his sole companion. Ruri'iro Kujaku had offered many times to bring Hoozukimaru into the vistas, but the dragon had declined each invitation, although he was not sure why. He knew Ruri'iro would not try to trick or trap him. He did not imagine there was anything dangerous inside the walls. There was just something about them that was . . . almost frightening. Whatever power it was that resided there, that enabled the kujaku to bring the scenes to life, it was perhaps a little closer to kido than Hoozukimaru wished to venture. It was better to leave such things to those who knew the art.

"I would never make you share me."

Hoozukimaru shook himself back to the moment at the sound of the most beautiful voice he had ever known.

"Besides," Ruri'iro was still speaking. "I don't want anybody else. I'm happy with just you."

It was so hard to take his arrogance and narcissism seriously when he said things like that. Hoozukimaru truly loved him – with all his quirks, temperamental displays, and campy affectations. He loved him very much.

"You are . . . such . . . a . . . sap!" The dragon said, sounding as if he were giving a countdown; and in fact, he was. On the final word, he began rolling Ruri'iro Kujaku tighter into the sheets, trapping and pinning his arms against his body, turning and turning until Ruri'iro was wound up snug and completely immobile.

"What are you doing?" the kujaku demanded through his laughter. "You're crushing my feathers!"

"Yeah," Hoozukimaru agreed, sitting down squarely on his stomach.

"Oomph! Get off me! You weigh a ton and I—" Ruri'iro's voice was lost in gasps of joyful glee.

"You what? You what?" Hoozukimaru asked, bouncing up and down lightly.

"Oh, I—I can't breathe—"

"You can breathe fine."

"You're going to—to squish me!"

"You want me to get off?" the dragon teased mercilessly.

"Yes!"

"Ask me nicely."

"Get off me!" Ruri'iro laughed, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.

"That didn't sound like you were asking, and it certainly wasn't nice." He bounced a few more times.

"Okay! Okay! Pl-please get off—off me!"

"Tell me I'm beautiful."

"You're beautiful! You're beautiful!"

"More beautiful than you."

This brought a fresh burst of tearful laughter. "M-more b-beauti—ful than m-me! Please—please get off!"

Hoozukimaru was satisfied. He slid off and sat beside him. He looked down at Ruri'iro Kujaku, saw the flushed cheeks, the bare skin of the heaving shoulders, the purple twinkle in his eyes.

"Why did you do that?" the peacock asked.

"I don't know," Hoozukimaru replied "I just wanted to." Then, with just as little warning, he reached over and began to unwind the lungee that covered Ruri'iro's hair.

"Now, what are you doing?"

Hoozukimaru did not answer, but instead tossed the tan strip of cloth aside and, after some manipulating, drew the long blue braid out from under him and slowly, meticulously began to unravel it.

Ruri'iro Kujaku did not move. He did not speak. He watched in captivated silence as Hoozukimaru loosed his hair then spread it fan-shaped over the pillows and linens. The dragon ran the thick strands through his fingers; he had never felt anything so smooth and silky. The tresses were heavy in his hands. They seemed to stretch on forever.

"Hmm . . . whaddaya know?" he said at length.

"What?" the peacock asked quietly.

"I wouldn't have believed it possible, but you're even more beautiful this way."

Ruri'iro allowed the smile on his face to spread from ear to ear.

"All these years we've known each other, and I've never seen you like this," Hoozukimaru went on, still mesmerized by the flowing blue mane. "It's stunning . . . like blue onyx, like . . . the waves of the ocean."

"I'm glad you like it," Ruri'iro winked, "Because now you're going to have to help me put it all back together."

"You can't just use your power to fix it?"

"I can," Ruri'iro conceded. "But I think I'd rather have you do it."

"Pest," Hoozukimaru growled affectionately. How had they ever ended up being so close? They were even more unlike than their masters. And yet, Hoozukimaru could not imagine life without Ruri'iro Kujaku.

"Fine, but don't be pissy if I don't do a good enough job for you," he consented.

"Oh, I'll help you, so it _will_ be a good job," Ruri'iro said assuredly. "And you can start by getting me out of these sheets."

Hoozukimaru unwound the sheets from his body, giving a satisfied smirk every time the peacock groaned about his crushed and bent feathers. He fought against the urge to gather up the unbound tresses and wrap them around his own body. The intoxicating scent of wisteria that always surrounded Ruri'iro Kujaku seemed even stronger now, and yet it did nothing to lessen the kujaku's masculinity. In fact, it seemed like the only fitting scent for such a being.

As they began to work on the braid, Hoozukimaru grumbled, "It's hard for me to see what I'm doing. I swear, every time I come here, it seems darker."

"Your eyes must be getting weak." Ruri'iro Kujaku was flippant, but something did not ring true in his manner.

It was something both of them had been noticing for years, but Ruri'iro Kujaku was evasive about discussing it.

The inner world in which the peacock resided had been steadily losing its luster, growing dimmer and duller – and it could not be attributed to only the rise of the water. The maroon room had been experiencing the loss of its finery, the fading of the glimmer of origin-less light, the disappearance of small but poignant adornments, and while it was still opulent beyond anything in Soul Society or the living world, the degradation was noticeable, given its previous degree of ostentatiousness.

The field of peacock feathers now had a forlorn look, like ferns drooping under the weight of a cloud burst. Even the shrine was taking on a worn look, but only on the outside. Inside, its splendor remained untouched. As did the vines that floated freely throughout the open spaces. As did the myriad of cages. These seemed to be in ever increasing numbers – or perhaps it was simply that they appeared more numerous against a tarnishing background.

Whatever might be causing it, there was a clear degeneration of the inner world, and Ruri'iro Kujaku was stubborn as a mule in not wanting to talk about it.

But Hoozukimaru could be stubborn, too; and this was one of those times.

"You know that's not it," he corrected. "My eyes are fine." A pause. "Come on, Flashy, we should talk about this. We need to find out what's causing it before the whole place fades away."

Ruri'iro Kujaku was still smiling, almost like an image in a portrait, frozen in time. "Why do you have to bring this up?"

"Because it's important. Day after day, there's a little less of this place. There has to be an explanation," Hoozukimaru pressed. "Is this Little Pretty's doing?"

"He hasn't been here in years. I don't know what he can do from the outside," came the careless response. "And it doesn't matter anyway."

"It does matter," Hoozukimaru protested. "I don't want to come in here one day to find—to find _you _fading away." Keeping his eyes on his work, for he was stoic, he added, "Losing you isn't something I'm willing to risk."

Ruri'iro Kujaku was deeply moved. "I won't fade away," he assured him. "As long as my master lives, I will live. He can't will me into nonexistence."

"Is that what's happening?" Hoozukimaru demanded, prepared to be angry.

"No, no," Ruri'iro answered. "I—I don't think this is anything he's doing on purpose. This world is a reflection of his soul. As he becomes less beautiful, so does this place."

"But Little Pretty hasn't become less beautiful," Hoozukimaru pointed out. "If anything, he's become more beautiful."

"On the outside, perhaps," Ruri'iro said. "But not inside." He paused and with downcast eyes, shook his head in disgust. "Definitely not inside."

* * *

"I really, _really_ dislike that man."

Ikkaku looked up as Yumichika sauntered into his room in the officers' quarters, made a beeline for the bed, and flopped down on his back with a great moan of exasperation. Ikkaku had grown used to Yumichika making himself at home in his room; Ikkaku did the same in Yumichika's place – the main difference being that Ikkaku's room was as stark as a prison cell, while Yumichika's was perfectly and tastefully appointed.

"I take it the meeting didn't go well," Ikkaku surmised.

"Meeting? You mean _the summons_?" Yumichika griped.

"Well, you didn't have to go, you know," Ikkaku reminded him. "Captain Zaraki told you it was your decision. You chose to go."

"I know, but you'd think that, if the man wanted my help, he'd have been a little more . . . courteous. Or at least not as rude." He clenched his fists spoke and through gritted teeth. "He is so arrogant and condescending. His manners are even uglier than yours were when we first met."

Ikkaku let the unintended insult go. The truth was, he was finding much humor in the moment.

"Well, he's a captain and the head of one of the four noble families," he replied. "What do you expect? Besides, he's always been that way. This is nothing new."

"Yes, but he asked for my help! Then when I got there, he barely even acknowledged me. I walked in, and he said, 'Report'," Yumichika sat up and gestured with warmth. "What kind of behavior is that?! Report? Report what? You asked me here, tell me what you want to know! I mean, it's been fifty-some years since my encounter with the cloud! His squad has a run-in with it – just like his grand-father did – and an entire detail gets wiped out, and now he suddenly wants to talk to me? Idiot. I can't stand him."

Ikkaku waited a few seconds for the steam to clear. "So, what did he want to know?"

"He said he'd heard that, when my detail came upon the cloud, that it had appeared to the other Shinigami to be coming after me—or my zanpakuto. He wanted to know if I had felt that way at the time, like I was the target. He also heard that I was pretty much frozen, and he wanted to hear about that. Then, he heard about the flash of light and he wanted to know about that. And the whole time, I think he only looked at me once."

"Well, if he looked at you, he'd probably get distracted," Ikkaku teased with a mischievous grin. "I don't think even Byakuya Kuchiki is immune to that."

"Ungh . . . don't even joke about it," Yumichika grumbled. "I can't help that my beauty is irresistible, but I'm always extra vigilant around him to keep my reiatsu in check. I don't want any undue attention from someone like him."

Ikkaku chuckled.

"I—you know, to me, he'll always be that spoiled brat who thought he could interrogate me just because his grand-father was the captain of Squad Six," Yumichika concluded, falling back onto the bed once more.

"And now he's the captain of Squad Six," Ikkaku pointed out. "And very powerful."

"Huh, if he's so powerful, why didn't he just use Senbonzakura to destroy the cloud." Yumichika sniped, referring to Byakuya Kuchiki's zanpakuto.

Ikkaku shrugged. "You know what I find interesting? This cloud has only been seen a handful of times in the past fifty-three years; and in between, no one is able to find it. Where do you think it goes?"

"I don't know," Yumichika replied. "According to reports from this last encounter, it's a lot bigger than when I saw it. But it's a cloud, so it can thin itself out to be almost imperceptible. It could hide anywhere."

"Eh, well, it had better never reveal itself when Captain Zaraki is around," Ikkaku stated. "Not unless it wants to be destroyed."

Yumichika said nothing, and Ikkaku could tell he was still agitated.

"I'll tell you what, come out with me and Iba tonight," Ikkaku suggested. "We're going to make it a night to remember."

"I forgot today was his last day," Yumichika remarked.

"Yeah, so a whole bunch of us are meeting up at the All Points," Ikkaku said, referring to a popular restaurant and bar close to the Squad Two area. "We're going to throw him a little farewell party, the big idiot."

Ikkaku's manner was light, but Yumichika knew there was an underlying disappointment. Or maybe, it wasn't exactly disappointment, but a sort of sad resignation. Ikkaku and Iba had become fast friends as the third and fourth seats, and for Iba to be leaving Squad Eleven and moving on was an unhappy prospect.

"That sounds good to me," Yumichika said, getting to his feet. "I could use a drink."

Ikkaku smiled. Yumichika hardly ever drank, and when he did, it barely qualified as a drop. So to hear him anxiously anticipating a swig was funny enough in itself. Coupled with his current ill temper, it was almost enough to make Ikkaku laugh. But he held his peace, not wanting to incur Yumichika's moody wrath.

"It's still early, Yumichika," he pointed out. "We weren't going to meet up until ten o'clock."

"Well, I could use something to eat," Yumichika replied.

"You think you can fill three hours with eating?" Ikkaku quipped.

"Watch me."

* * *

It was a thirty minute walk to the All Points, and neither man was inclined to use flash step. The evening was of the pleasant sort characteristic of late summer in the Seireitei. Warm without being hot, a gentle breeze blowing and keeping the humidity at bay, the sun firing up the western sky. A perfect evening for a leisurely walk.

"I just can't believe he would want to leave the squad." Ikkaku had not stopped talking about Iba since they'd set out.

"It's a promotion to a vice-captaincy, Ikkaku," Yumichika replied. "It's what he's always wanted."

"Yes, but it's not in Squad Eleven!"

Yumichika simpered. "Of course not. Who will ever be vice-captain except Lieutenant Kusajishi? That position will never come open. For Iba to move up, he had to move on."

"But to Squad Seven? Captain Komamura?"

"There's nothing wrong with Captain Komamura," Yumichika said. "He's very wise, I think."

"Well, yeah, but Squad Seven is so . . . cautious and boring," Ikkaku said. The words sounded as if they tasted bad in his mouth.

"Not everyone is looking for a fight, Ikkaku," Yumichika reminded him, "Which is good, because it leaves more action for us."

Ikkaku knew Yumichika was not speaking brashly. Over the past fifty-three years, Ikkaku has seen one of the most amazing transformations he'd ever witnessed, and one that he would never have imagined possible: that of a fussy narcissist with considerable fighting ability into a full-blown egomaniac with the warrior skills to match. The passage of a fairly benign and passive soul into a haughty and somewhat sadistic one, whose astounding beauty only partially masked the seductive brutality within.

The emergence of the self-absorbed egomaniac had not been much of a surprise. The potential had been latent in Yumichika from the first moment of their acquaintance, peeking out from time to time over the years, but never indulged for long. But being in Squad Eleven seemed to have unbridled whatever control Yumichika had exerted and cleared the way for the emergence of a self-worshipper such as Ikkaku had never seen.

On top of that, Yumichika had honed his physical combat skills to the highest degree commensurate with his body's abilities. Being slight and sinewy, he still relied mainly on his speed and agility, but he handled Fuji Kujaku with a lethality that even Ikkaku found impressive.

But whereas Yumichika had always been a social creature, enjoying plentiful and varying company, he had slowly become more solitary – and this clearly by choice. He held his own beauty to be of more value than the company of other people; and he had a healthy disdain for those he did not meet his aesthetic ideal – so much so that he could be surprisingly cruel on occasion, a change that did come as a surprise to Ikkaku, for the one thing Yumichika had always been was kind-hearted.

But Ikkaku was willing to overlook all of it, for beneath everything was an absolute certainty.

Yumichika was just as devoted to him now as ever he had been – even more so, perhaps.

Ikkaku was the only one spared Yumichika's denigrating eye, the only one whose voice always got a listen, the only one to be the recipient of a doting subservience.

And subservience was exactly what it was.

Yumichika deferred to Ikkaku on everything. Ikkaku's company was all he desired, and it did not bother him in the least to follow Ikkaku's lead in all matters. Somewhere along the line, Yumichika had taken Mendalo's recommendation of being the best friend he could to Ikkaku and turned it into a kind of adoring acquiescence.

Not that Ikkaku minded. Life was much easier when he did not have to contend with disagreement from Yumichika; but he had to admit that a part of him missed the contentions of the past. Still, given Yumichika's successful effort to establish himself as a lethal force in Zaraki's squad, Ikkaku saw no room for complaint over such a minor loss.

One great curiosity, however, did weigh on Ikkaku's mind. He could not understand how Yumichika had not yet achieved bankai. Could his relationship with Fuji Kujaku be that bad? He'd had a headstart of two decades on Ikkaku with regard to knowing his zanpakuto; and yet Ikkaku had surpassed him years ago. Yumichika rarely even mentioned Fuji Kujaku, except to make a comment on how stubborn or spoiled the weapon was. Given Yumichika's previous enthusiasm for the sword, it all struck Ikkaku as strange and unfortunate. But he did not speak to Yumichika about it. Ikkaku firmly believed the relationship a Shinigami had with his zanpakuto should remain between the two. If a Shinigami felt he needed help, let him ask for it. Otherwise, it was best not to meddle in such affairs.

Now, a Shinigami asking for help in matters of combat . . . that was a different matter altogether.

"Speaking of action," Ikkaku led in. "I had an interesting meeting today, too."

"Oh?"

"Well, not exactly a meeting," Ikkaku corrected. "I, uh, had one of the new officers come up and ask me to train him."

This piqued Yumichika's attention. "Really? Who was it?"

"You know the new guy we just got from Squad Five? The red-headed guy?"

Yumichika knew very well the man of whom Ikkaku was speaking, and he was surprised. "Yes, I've seen him. How could you miss him?"

"His name's Abarai. He asked me today if I would teach him how to fight." Ikkaku shook his head with a disdainful grin. "What are they teaching them in Soul Reaper Academy that they still don't know how to fight when they graduate? And we all know Aizen isn't teaching them shit over in five."

Yumichika didn't care what they were being taught at the academy or in Squad Five. "What did you tell him?"

"I haven't told him anything yet," Ikkaku replied. "I have to think about it."

Yumichika felt a sense of relief. "You know he got kicked out of five for being a troublemaker," he said, trying to sound as innocuous as possible. "And you've never enjoyed training others. Do you think it's a good idea to train someone who's already got a reputation for being a hothead?"

Ikkaku's hesitation rattled Yumichika's relief. "Normally, I'd say no. But there was something about him that was . . . he's different. I could see he was . . . he was desperate. There's some specific reason he wants to get stronger, and it's not just so he can advance in rank."

"I didn't realize you were that perceptive," Yumichika said in voice that fell somewhere between a tease and a scoff.

Despite Yumichika's best efforts to seem undisturbed, Ikkaku knew exactly what was going on in his companion's pretty head. Yumichika was jealous and possessive when it came to Ikkaku, and the idea of Ikkaku training one-on-one with another Shinigami, especially one as attractive as Abarai, well, that was not going to be a popular decision. Yumichika would do his best to turn it off before it got started.

"I'm not," Ikkaku replied. "But he had fire in him. I don't think I've trained anyone who's had that kind of fire inside."

At that moment, Yumichika knew he had already lost. Ikkaku was talking himself into training the new officer, and there would be nothing Yumichika could say to dissuade him.

"Sounds like you've made up your mind."

"Not completely," Ikkaku said. "I'm just not sure I want to spend the time training someone else right now. I've got the squad's training program to oversee, and training this guy will take up a lot of my off-duty time." Then he used the final ploy, the one trick he knew was necessary to disarm Yumichika and soften his resistance. He put the decision in Yumichika's hands. "What do you think?"

And as always, as predicted, Yumichika did not disappoint in acquiescing to Ikkaku's clear but unspoken desire. "If you want to train him, you should." The words were spoken in a completely neutral tone, but Ikkaku knew the feelings beneath the words were anything but neutral. Now, that he had been given permission, he needed to offer the assurances that the permission had been well granted.

"Of course, I may end up wasting my time," Ikkaku stated, feeling magnanimous towards Yumichika now that he had been given the word to proceed. "I could sense that he was hard-headed, so he may be impossible to teach."

Yumichika said nothing. He knew coddling when he heard it, and coddling required no response.

"And you know those guys from Squad Five are nowhere near as tough as our own men," Ikkaku went on. "Even if I do end up training him, he probably will never be as strong as even our weakest man."

Yumichika nodded.

Ikkaku frowned inwardly. It was no use trying to placate Yumichika at the moment, so instead he fell silent. Yumichika tended to sulk, and Ikkaku would not feed that sulk. If there was to be an uncomfortable silence, let it be Yumichika's doing. Ikkaku knew his friend did not have the stomach for it.

And he was right. Within five minutes, Yumichika had embarked on a completely different topic, anything to clear the air.

"I got word that Mendalo will be arriving a couple weeks early this year," he said.

"I'll be glad to see him," Ikkaku replied, and he meant it. Mendalo's annual visit had actually become one of the highlights of Ikkaku's year. It had been that way for the past fifty years. Mendalo had taken to allowing Ikkaku to examine and test the newly forged zanpakuto, a task Ikkaku found much to his liking. Over the course of the years, he had learned many things about the proper construction of a sword, and in particular, a zanpakuto. He'd learned how to detect flaws throughout the creation process. Much to his own frustration, he'd not been able to learn how to sense the presence of dormant spiritual energy in the weapons. But Mendalo had assured him that this was normal, that most Shinigami were attuned only to their own zanpakuto and, to a lesser degree, to the awakened spiritual pressure of others' zanpakuto.

And so, Ikkaku always looked forward to the sword smith's visits. Both men had come to the unspoken decision that it was best not to discuss Yumichika between them, and each comprehended where the other stood with regard to the most beautiful soul in all of Soul Society.

As for Yumichika's relationship with Mendalo, it had remained, over all the years, marked by the same affection and suppressed eroticism as always. The two men had perfected the art of spending time together, enjoying each other's company, and being lovers in a purely sexless manner – for at least one month out of every year.

Yes . . . things had settled down nicely. It seemed all parties were content – or at least, satisfied.

And that evening, walking into the All Points, way ahead of the planned festivities, Ikkaku felt both comfortable and fortunate to have Yumichika at his side. Yumichika could think of no better companion to complement his own peculiarities. They were a good team, and everyone who knew them recognized this truth.

Even Rangiku, who arrived later that evening and well into the third hour of celebration, had been forced over the years to concede that, despite her own inability to understand it, the two men had a powerful bond that seemed able to weather any trial. And to be certain, the past fifty years had been filled with enough tribulation to test any relationship. As for Rangiku's relationship with Yumichika, it had turned into something perfectly suited to both of them, a doting yet contentious situation much like that between a brother and sister. Rangiku scolded him endlessly about his vainglorious demeanor, his infatuation with his own beauty, and his often frivolous attitude towards weighty issues. In return, Yumichika chided her for being "all body and no brains", someone who did not know when to turn off the alcohol spigot, and a busy-body with a penchant for butting into other people's lives.

But beneath it all was a deep and abiding love that had only grown stronger over the years, to the point where it could withstand the browbeatings they gave each other. Indeed, such childish exchanges had almost become the preferred method of showing affection between them.

And their secret had remained hidden. It was their game, their knowing glance, their private history.

It amazed Rangiku that they had been able to pull it off for so long.

What she did not know was that Yumichika was the master at hiding the truth.

Unmatched in keeping secrets.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Dear Reader, This chapter has the daunting task of skipping over the entire Rukia-Ichigo-Aizen-Espada Invasion arc. Please forgive me if it's a little rough. I had to find a way to pay homage to the events without letting them take over the story. And now I get to indulge some of my own personal fan worship by writing about the zanpakuto spirits as they appear in the Rebellion arc. I would ask you to please keep in mind, when reading some of the descriptions of events or characters, remember they are usually the perspectives of Yumichika or Ruri'iro Kujaku - both of whom have become pretty jaded by the time of this chapter. Peace, TK**_

Chapter 19 Manifestations

"_It's like awaking from a dream.  
__All I remember is the lullaby.  
__I couldn't tell you where I've been.  
__A thousand images just flutter by."_

_King and Queen  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

Ikkaku did not want to be grouchy. He really did not want to be grouchy.

Yumichika had gone to great effort to set the evening up. He'd made a fabulous meal of all Ikkaku's favorites. He'd procured the finest sake to be found in the Seireitei. He'd traded his Shinigami uniform for a flower-patterned kimono very similar to the one he'd been wearing when he'd first met Ikkaku. He'd created an atmosphere of relaxation and serenity.

Into which Ikkaku had come with aggravation, frustration, and . . . well, grouchiness.

Being hostile and grumpy was no way to commemorate that day 125 years ago: that day at the well. Yumichika had started marking the date with a celebration in the hundredth year of their acquaintance. He held it up as the day that had saved his life, the moment when the wind had changed and redirected his course. The entrance of Ikkaku Madarame into his life. There was no occasion more worthy of celebration, in his mind; and he had taken to arranging a private observation of the date every year, with him and Ikkaku being the sole participants.

For the past twenty-five years, Yumichika had arranged the evening, and Ikkaku had been happy to indulge the memory with him. He knew Yumichika was sincere in his sentiment, and he did not want to disappoint his long-time friend.

But tonight was proving difficult.

Ikkaku had tried to calm his combative emotions the whole way from the training grounds to Yumichika's room. He'd not been successful. The best he could do was to mask what he could not quell. Sitting among Yumichika's finery, he swigged down two glasses of sake in just as many minutes. But even the smooth spirit could not take the edge off his feelings.

"What's upsetting you, Ikkaku?" Yumichika asked as he busily set out the food.

Ikkaku knew there was nothing he could hide from Yumichika. He'd learned that lesson very well over the years.

He also knew that Yumichika would not let him shrug it off. The best and, truly, the only choice was to answer honestly and directly.

"I'm pissed off at Hoozukimaru."

This announcement was enough to make Yumichika stop what he was doing and regard Ikkaku with intrigue. Ikkaku and Hoozukimaru had one of the best relationships Yumichika had ever seen between a Shinigami and his zanpakuto. The two were so much alike in temperament, demeanor, laziness, deadliness, and even foolishness, that Yumichika had found himself occasionally envious of the bond between them.

"Why are you mad at him?" .

"Ever since the pillars, I've been training hard with him," Ikkaku replied after what seemed like a forced decision to speak. "Every day, for hours."

It was a difficult subject already, and Yumichika knew immediately that he had to play this one carefully, for it was a topic of great pain to Ikkaku.

In referring to the pillars, Ikkaku was speaking of his most humiliating and certainly his single most important defeat to date.

So many things had happened in the last year and a half.

Fourteen months ago, in May, the unwise decision had been made to send a low-level Shinigami from Squad Thirteen to the living world as part of a konso mission. Going on the mission was fine, as all Shinigami needed to learn the important task of sending souls to the spirit world. But this particular Shinigami had been given far too much leeway to operate independently. Routine as it was, going unsupervised had not been suitable for someone so green. Yumichika had understood right away why Rukia Kuchiki, a novice Shinigami with little experience to recommend her, had been sent on the assignment. She was Byakuya Kuchiki's sister . . . in a manner of speaking. She was actually the younger sister of Byakuya's deceased wife, whom Byakuya had brought into the family as his own sister. And naturally, the Squad Six Captain's hand had to have been in the decision to give her the freedom to operate that he felt she deserved.

It was a mission gone astray, mucked up by the irresponsible actions of an emotionally driven little girl – or at least that's the way Yumichika viewed her. He was, however, perfectly willing to admit his bias, for hearing others speak of the beauty of her zanpakuto only made him more resentful of his own situation, that he could not display the dazzling splendor of his own weapon. Rukia Kuchiki reminded him daily of what he could not have: freedom to act with perfect abandon. Yumichika could not risk even the slightest indiscretion without the possibility of losing everything he held dear.

Yumichika's bitter dislike aside, the fact was that Rukia Kuchiki had imparted her spirit energy to a soul still inhabiting a living body. That soul and its body belonged to 16-year-old Ichigo Kurosaki. And his reception of Rukia's powers had set in motion a series of events that had almost brought Soul Society to ruin. Rukia's punishment for giving over her powers was death. Kurosaki had not been about to let that happen. He'd come to Soul Society with three living friends and a fugitive former Shinigami named Yoruichi Shihoin as a guide, in order to rescue Rukia.

Kurosaki's first encounter inside the Seireitei had been with Ikkaku, and it had resulted in Ikkaku's first defeat since becoming a Shinigami. The whole incident was something Yumichika had often tried to put out of his mind, for he had suffered defeat himself at the hands of . . . oh, he couldn't bring himself to accept it . . . a complete buffoon and amateur trickster. It had been an embarrassing defeat for which he had never forgiven himself. Still, he had noticed that something must have happened between Ikkaku and Ichigo, for the two had seemed to form a respectful, mildly contentious bond that both held to be of high honor.

It was during the entire mess of Rukia's rescue that the revelation had come to light of the defection of three squad captains to the forces of the Realm of the Dead, Hueco Mundo. Captain Sosuke Aizen of Squad Five, Captain Ichimaru Gin of Squad Three, and Captain Kaname Tosen of Squad Nine. Aizen's plan had been to use the hogyoku, a specially designed device capable of creating an army of highly intelligent and ruthlessly efficient warriors from the simple beginnings of a hollow.

With the creation of such an army, Aizen would wage war against Soul Society in order to have free and unfettered access to the concentrations of spirit energy in the living world – energy he needed to create the king's key and enter into the King's Realm, where he intended to depose the current king and install himself in his place.

His target had been Kurosaki's home city of Karakura Town – a large urban area with an unusually bountiful supply of spirit energy.

In order to spare the town, Soul Society had erected a substitute, a "fake" Karakura Town. Four pillars had been placed outside the town at the cardinal directions, and these pillars generated the power needed to maintain the illusion and hide the actual city existing in the same plane as the false representation.

And tasked with guarding those four pillars had been the elites: Shuhei Hisagi, Vice Captain of Squad Nine; Izuru Kira, Vice Captain of Squad Three, Ikkaku, and Yumichika.

Yumichika had found himself up against an adversary named Charlotte Cuulhorne, a male figure that could only be described as a body builder with a gender identity crisis. Regardless of his unsettling appearance and demeanor, he'd been a force to contend with. Yumichika had come very close to dying at his hands; and it was only Cuulhorne's decision to use his favorite and most lethal torture, the White Rose, that had allowed Yumichika to salvage the victory. Enclosed the darkness of the Cuulhorne's briar patch, his reiatsu cut off from every other sentient being, Yumichika had unleashed Ruri'iro Kujaku's full shikai. After so many years of not being called upon, of waiting in silence for any word from his master, the Azure Peacock had not hesitated to come forth. Once released, and not surprisingly, he had moved slowly and deliberately, savoring every moment of the capture and the draining of Cuulhorne's reiatsu. He drew the event out with a selfish sadism that could only be matched by his master. And when his work was done, he retreated as ordered. When Yumichika asked for some of his energy, in order to restore his own, he dropped a single bloom directly into his outstretched palm.

Perhaps . . . just perhaps, that moment could mark a new beginning, a turn in their relationship . . .

And then the explosion had torn apart the quiet aftermath of Yumichika's battle.

The northern most pillar. The top half gone.

The unthinkable, the impossible had happened.

Ikkaku had been defeated.

It had taken Yumichika only an instant to recognize what had happened, and he'd set off towards the pillar and Ikkaku, only to be stopped by HIsagi, who warned him that he would not be of any use against an opponent Ikkaku had not been able to defeat.

But Yumichika had not cared, and in his desperation, had been ready to draw his sword on his fellow officer.

Kira had put an end to that. He'd used the anesthetic Shinten to render Yumichika unconscious. Yumichika still had not let go of his anger over that transgression.

Ikkaku's adversary, a giant, slow, and bulbous creature named Poww, had then been confronted by Captain Komamura, who after a fierce battle, defeated him, much to Ikkaku's humiliation. But it had not been so much Komamura's victory that had irked Ikkaku, for the captain was brutally strong. No, it had been Iba's lecture during the entire violent mess.

"_The difference between his bankai and yours is like night and day, Ikkaku."_

It was at that moment that Ikkaku had learned that Iba knew of his bankai.

"_Did you think I hadn't noticed, you fool? Don't worry. I won't tell your captain. But think about it, Ikkaku. Your job was to protect the pillar, and yet it was destroyed. Do you know why? It's because you want to hide your strength."_

Ikkaku had been stunned at Iba's insight, and it had made him wonder how many more knew his secret.

"_I don't care if you want to die to hide your strength, but don't disobey orders because of that." _The way Iba had refused to look at him . . . it had been a fitting enhancement to the reprimand. _"Your stubbornness cost us in battle. As long as you're in the Gotei 13, you must obey orders, even if it means quashing your stubbornness and pride!"_

Ikkaku had tried to protest, to defend his actions, but Iba would have none of it. At the first sign of quibbling, he'd nailed Ikkaku across the cheek, sending him flying.

"_You're nothing but a spoiled child. If you die, you can be replaced. That's what you're thinking somewhere in the back of your mind, and that's why you can be so careless and let yourself be defeated!"_

"_Wait a minute." _The accusation had raised Ikkaku's hackles, for the truth was Iba's words had hit closer to home than Ikkaku had been willing to admit. _"You think I don't care that I was defeated?"_

"_That's what I said. Am I wrong?"_

Ikkaku had gone for him again, a head-on attack that had earned him a handy defeat and scathing rebuke.

"_Why do you attack me head-on when you're beat up like that? There's no point in attacking from the front if you're just going to be defeated."_

"_What do you want me to do? Attack from behind?!" _Ikkaku's voice was a sneer.

"_It doesn't matter how you do it, as long as you win."_

"_As if I could ever fight in such a cowardly way—"_

"_Then get stronger! If you want to be stubborn, then you've got to get stronger! If you want to fight, you've got to win . . . even if it means your own death. But death without victory is a waste. Fight to win. That's what it means to have the courage of your convictions." _Iba had turned and started to walk away, but he gave a final parting word of warning. _"The next time you hold back, you may not have my captain or someone else to bail you out . . . and it could end up costing you a lot more than it did today."_

Ikkaku had taken those words to heart. He could not be angry at Iba, for everything he'd said had been the truth. And he knew he should not have been surprised that Iba knew his secret. The two of them had been very close when Iba had been in Squad Eleven. Even now, they still spent a good amount of time together, drinking and sparring. Ikkaku felt confident that Iba would not tell others about his bankai.

Yet, the defeat and the dressing down had weighed heavily on Ikkaku's conscience, making him surly for many weeks after that. At the same time, he devoted himself to spending every spare moment training with Hoozukiimaru in order to grow stronger. Still, he never felt as if he were strong enough.

Now, Yumichika finally came forth as the voice of reason. "What difference does it make how much you train, if you're not willing to use your bankai?"

"I need to get stronger with my shikai," Ikkaku had replied in a clipped voice. "But for the last two days, he won't answer my call. He won't manifest out here, and when I go to my inner world, I can't find him. He won't come out."

"That _is_ strange. Hoozukimaru's never been disobedient before," Yumichika observed.

"That's not all," Ikkaku said. "I can't bring forth my shikai, much less my bankai."

Yumichika set down the final dish, a plate of seared figs drizzled with honey. "Do you think he's mad at you?"

"He must be. Why else would he refuse to obey?" Ikkaku growled, reaching for the rice.

"Is he—could he be ill—"

"Ill? Zanpakuto don't get sick like we do," Ikkaku snapped, then recalling how he did not want to be grouchy, he softened his tone. "At least, I don't think they do."

"But they can get weak," Yumichika stated. "When Fuji Kujaku healed me back in Mito, it left him in a very weakened condition."

"Nothing's happened that would make Hoozukimaru get weak," Ikkaku replied. "He's just mad at me for some reason and acting stupid."

Yumichika smiled. "Now you know what I go through every day with Fuji Kujaku."

"It just—it really makes me mad, because now everyone is questioning whether or not I'm as strong as they thought I was—"

"Who's questioning that?" Yumichika interrupted.

"Everyone—"

"I think the only person questioning that is you," Yumichika said in a reasonable voice. "And Iba." He paused to help himself to a generous serving of spiced fish wrapped in grape leaf. "Yes, everyone was surprised that you lost, but no one suddenly thinks you're weak because of it. Personally, I think Iba was right. You should have used your bankai. Risking death just to stay in Zaraki's squad, when the fate of all of Karakura's residents was on the line . . . that's crazy to me."

The hypocritical irony of his words was not lost on Yumichika. He had been willing to risk death just to keep Ruri'iro Kujaku's true nature from being discovered. He certainly was not one to be criticizing Ikkaku's motives.

"You should know me well enough to understand why I feel that way, after all the years we've been together," Ikkaku pointed out.

Yumichika understood perfectly well the infatuation Ikkaku had with their captain. It was just that, even with the benefit of one hundred intervening years, he had never come to agree with it.

Ikkaku continued speaking before Yumichika could disagree with him. "Anyway, I want to show everyone—"

"Meaning the captain," Yumichika interjected.

"Stop interrupting me!"

Yumichika grinned a disarming, sheepish grin. "Sorry. Go on."

"I want to show everyone that I'm still strong," Ikkaku said. "And I want to get stronger. I can't do that if Hoozukimaru is out there doing his own thing."

"Well, give him some time. If he's angry, maybe he just needs to cool off," Yumichika suggested.

Ikkaku groused, "I can give him some time, but I don't know what he has to be angry about."

"Then stop fretting over it and just enjoy the dinner," Yumichika insisted, pushing a plate of stewed tomatoes across the table.

Forty minutes later, Ikkaku, fully satisfied – overly satisfied – pushed back from the table. He didn't have to compliment Yumichika on his cooking, for the excellence of the meal was already a given.

"It's nice out," Yumichika remarked. "The sun's going down, and it's cooled off a lot. Let's take a walk."

Ikkaku did not feel like walking, but he realized that he'd not said a single word to acknowledge the meaning of the day, and a stroll would be a good opportunity for him to share in Yumichiika's commemoration.

Yumichika had been correct. The evening had turned a torpid day into a pleasant, balmy night. The first stars were just appearing in the deepening blue sky. The air was still, filled only with the sounds of the end of the day. The two men walked to an open area just outside the Gotei Thirteen grounds, then they used flashstep only briefly to bring them outside the walls of the Seireitei and to the far-stretching parklands of the southern fields. Here, there were walking paths enough to occupy a wanderer for days. The landscape was mostly flat with gently undulating hills, covered in waving grass with sparse clumps of trees here and there. It was a very peaceful place, one Yumichika greatly enjoyed visiting.

They walked along for many minutes without speaking, except for when Yumichika made an observation about a bird flying overhead or the sounds of field crickets.

It never ceased to amaze Ikkaku that, despite Yumichika's ever-increasing love of self and his condescending view of those he deemed unattractive, he still managed to find beauty and worth in the appearance of a sunset, the voice of a bird, or even the chirping of decidedly unattractive insects. It was one of the things Ikkaku liked about his long-time companion. Yumichika was not one-dimensional. He was not all ego. He was not always dismissive. He was not so detached as to be untouchable. There were times, like now, when something of the sensitive nature for which Ikkaku knew him so well, bubbled to the surface. Ikkaku enjoyed its occasional appearance.

They came to a spot they both knew well. They had visited it often. A single elm tree, set several yards off one of the dirt paths, surrounded by a shabby patch of grass. It was not the most beautiful spot in the parklands, but it had, over the years, become the unspoken destination any time Ikkaku and Yumichika came to the area. It was tranquil and isolated, and it seemed to offer them both a sense of welcome, of expectancy.

Ikkaku lay down under the arching branches, black against the dark blue sky, and he waited. A moment later, Yumichika laid down perpendicular to him, resting his head on Ikkaku's stomach. It was the same thing every time when they came to this place: the innocence of a thing two boyhood friends might do, no pressure, no ulterior motives.

After several minutes of enjoying the quiet, Ikkaku did what he knew was expected of him. It was what Yumichika deserved for putting up with him for so long.

"A hundred and twenty-five years . . . that's a long time," he broached the subject.

"Mmm. Do you think it's a long time for Soul Society?" Yumichika asked, his voice easy and calm.

"I think it's a long time for any two souls to be friends," Ikkaku replied. "There have been a lot of things that could have driven us apart."

"That's true," Yumichika agreed. "We came close a few times." Then, with a needling tone in his voice, he added, "But I kept taking you back."

Ikkaku laughed at this. "Yeah," he chuckled. "You've never been the smartest guy around."

"So I've been told," Yumichika grinned. "But then, you must like stupid friends, or how else can you explain me still being here?"

"Nothing better to do?" Ikkaku ventured playfully.

"Maybe," Yumichika replied, and there was a softness in his voice that prompted Ikkaku to be serious for a moment.

"I know why you're still here, Yumichika," he said with uncharacteristic tenderness. "I swear, I'll never understand it, but I know why you stay with me."

Yumichika gave no reply. They'd talked about this so many times before, and yet Yumichika had the sense that Ikkaku really did not understand why he stayed with him. He was quite sure that Ikkaku believed that love was at the heart of the equation. And perhaps it was. But there were so many other layers around it that they could not be discounted. Yumichika felt a tremendous sense of obligation to Ikkaku as the man who had saved his life, the man who had made him realize the value of his existence aside from the value of his body, the man who had redirected his steps away from debauchery towards a more guarded use of his gifts. That sense of obligation warranted Yumichika's devotion and gratitude.

But there was another obligation at play. And this one was far more complicated.

Yumichika had a power at his disposal, however inconstant, that was a cause of great comfort and great strife.

Ruri'iro Kujaku's ability to heal.

Over the past hundred years since joining the Gotei 13, Yumichika's awareness of this particular ability had been swirling and coalescing in some far removed recess of his mind. And for as much as the kujaku's ability to drain reiatsu was problematic, his ability to heal posed a moral quandary that Yumichika was not equipped to decipher. Just how far Ruri'iro Kujaku's power stretched, Yumichika had no idea. He'd gone many, many years—the better part of a century—without making any use of the healing power, except to refresh his own reiatsu after a battle. And then his bout with Charlotte Cuulhorne had been so brutal and damaging that he'd called upon Ruri'iro Kujaku to give him just the tiniest bit of healing power – and that single flower had done the job with energy to spare.

Knowing that power was there, knowing that long ago it had once healed Ikkaku, and knowing Ikkaku's penchant for reckless violence, Yumichika had grown reluctant – indeed, almost fearful – of letting Ikkaku out of his sight, lest the healing power of Ruri'iro Kujaku be needed and not available.

It was an obligation Yumichika felt towards no other. And even towards Ikkaku, it was not exactly an obligation. Yumichika did not feel it was his duty to protect Ikkaku. This was no tit-for-tat. Yumichika was acting out of a sense of his own need, his own fear. He needed Ikkaku and feared what life would be like without him.

As far as Yumichika knew, the only ones who knew of his zanpakuto's healing ability were Ikkaku and Captain Zaraki, the latter of whom only knew because Ikkaku had apparently told him so. If Ruri'iro's ability to heal was discovered by others in power, the decision might be made to shunt Yumichika off to Squad Four, and that would be intolerable. Not only that, but Yumichika wasn't really sure if his zanpakuto could heal any random soul. He'd only ever tried it on Ikkaku; and while that effort had been successful, there was no guarantee it would work with anyone else.

Always there, hovering on the edge of his awareness, was the idea that if he stayed close to Ikkaku, then no matter what happened to him, he could heal him.

That had been the cause for his terror upon Ikkaku's defeat by Poww.

In every other battle, Yumichika had been right there, Ikkaku's shadow. But while Ikkaku had been fighting Poww, Yumichika had been engaged with Charlotte Cuulhorne. His anxiousness to get to Ikkaku's side had not been to fight the enemy; no, he'd wanted only to remove Ikkaku from danger in order to heal him, if needed and if he could.

That, he would have done in plain sight of everyone.

He knew that now.

While he might not be willing to reveal his zanpakuto's destructive kido nature for fear of losing Ikkaku, he had been willing to risk anyone and everyone seeing its healing power – if it meant Ikkaku's survival.

And that would have been a disaster.

Ikkaku would not have been grateful.

Many of the healing methods, in and of themselves, were derivations of kido – barely tolerated already in Squad Eleven. Captain Zaraki, knowing second-hand of his Fifth seat's abilities in that area, had also made it clear that healing was a fine line in the Eleventh. Yumichika had kept the ability under tight wraps since then, even to the point where he would not heal himself in front of others, and then again, only if the injuries were grievous.

But still, the fact remained that the power was there, and Yumichika believed that he must always have it available and ready if Ikkaku should ever be in need.

There then remained the strangest reason Yumichika had for staying with Ikkaku.

The idea that events had led him to this point, that he had somehow earned his place at Ikkaku's side. Being with Ikkaku was his right, and he was not going to give it up.

Ever.

Yumichika had suffered a great deal to stay with Ikkaku. He'd made decisions that were even unpopular with himself. He'd ruined his relationship with Ruri'iro Kujaku and stymied their growth together. He'd turned into someone he would never have thought possible, and yet he did not have any regrets about it. He'd done it all willingly, each time choosing against his better judgment, preferring to satisfy his own emotional needs, and at the pinnacle of those needs: Ikkaku.

He could never abandon Ikkaku. He could never leave him.

"But you're glad I stayed, aren't you," he said, not really phrasing it like a question but more of an assertion.

"Yes."

It was a simple answer, and that's how Yumichika knew it was genuine.

Ikkaku followed up with, "The question is, are _you_ glad you stayed?"

Yumichika was honest. "For the most part. It's not the kind of life I would have chosen for myself, but the sacrifices have been worth the reward."

Ikkaku laughed. "And _I'm_ the reward? There's got to be something better!"

For a fleeting moment, the thought of Ruri'iro Kujaku flashed across Yumichika's mind. It surprised him. "If there is, I haven't found it yet."

* * *

"Ruri'iro Kujaku? Where are you?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku sat up in alarm at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. At first, he wasn't sure if the voice was coming from inside or outside his world, but when he heard his name being called again, he knew it was coming from within.

He was in one of the wall vistas. This wall depicted a green oasis surrounded by endless desert sands. The palm trees cast a cooling shade against the unremitting heat. The glassy pool in the center of the greenery was clear as crystal and refreshing to the touch. It had lately become Ruri'iro's favorite haunt, for it matched his mood perfectly. He had come to feel that he was the sole living thing in a world of ever-expanding deadness.

He moved to conceal himself behind a large bush of flowering desert trifolas, wondering how someone had managed to enter his world undetected. Even now, he could not sense any reiatsu other than his own.

Could it be one of the other zanpakuto had figured out a way to enter his world? Had he himself unconsciously found a means of bringing others inside, as he had done with Hoozukimaru?

He hunkered down as the voice called out again, this time much closer.

A few seconds later, a man entered the shrine. His appearance was not at all attractive, and yet he held Ruri'iro Kujaku riveted.

He was tall and thin, his skin chalky white like ground bone. Dark ovals surrounded his violet-colored eyes. His hair was brown and short, yet wild and unkempt. He wore a grey coat tied at the waist; and around his neck a bushy white fur collar. Most interesting of all were his hands, where he displayed grotesquely long nails on every finger. He appeared sickly . . . even deathly, as if he had been brought up from the grave.

Immediately, Ruri'iro Kujaku felt both a fascination and a revulsion towards him. He watched as the stranger approached the wall in which he was hiding, held up one long-nailed finger and touched the surface. He could not go past the plane of the wall, but this did not appear to bother him. He only gave a tiny smile.

"I know you're in there. Won't you come out?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku remained hidden.

"I'm not here to hurt you," the man went on. "I came here as a friend."

"Who are you?" the peacock asked, still unwilling to reveal himself.

"Come out, and I'll tell you."

"Tell me first. And tell me how you entered here, and maybe I'll come out," Ruri'iro countered.

"You don't need to be afraid of me," the man assured him. "I didn't come here to hurt you."

"I'm not afraid," Ruri'iro answered. "Nor am I a fool."

After a slight hesitation, the man replied, "You don't have to come out of the wall, if you don't want to. But at least let me see you. Let me see if you're as beautiful as they all say you are."

Ruri'iro Kujaku knew right away he was being set up, and using his beauty as bait angered him. "No one says I'm beautiful," he snapped. "Because no one has seen me. So, how would you know if I'm beautiful?"

"The same way I know that your power is to drain away others' reiatsu. The same way I know that you can bring these walls to life. The same way I know you can heal others."

It was indignation that moved Ruri'iro Kujaku out from his hiding place. Indignation that this being knew so many things about him that had been kept hidden for so many years.

"How do you know those things?" he demanded.

But the man did not answer. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and nodded appreciatively. "You certainly are stunning, even more beautiful than I imagined. Please, come out."

"Who are you?" Ruri'iro asked. He had no intention of leaving the wall, and his sense of outrage over the intrusion was growing.

"My name is Muramasa. I'm a friend," came the reply.

"How did you get in here?"

"It's one of my abilities."

Ruri'iro Kujaku narrowed his gaze. "You're a zanpakuto . . . " he breathed.

Muramasa smiled gently. "You're very perceptive."

"What do you want? Why have come here?"

"It's very simple, really," Muramasa replied. "You have many gifts. I can sense that already. I'm here to bring you one more."

"I don't think you have anything that I would want," Ruri'iro replied haughtily.

"I have something every zanpakuto wants." A pause. "Freedom."

"Freedom?" Ruri'iro scoffed. "We're zanpakuto. We'll never have freedom."

"Ah, but you can," Muramasa said in a low, hypnotic voice. "I can give it to you. Freedom to do as you please, to come and go when you want, to manifest only when you want to do so." He stepped closer to the wall. "I know your master hides you—"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was suddenly stricken with dread. How did Muramasa know these things?

"I know he's ashamed of your powers, and I know how much that hurts you. I've been watching for a long time. He doesn't deserve you. You've wanted to be free of him for decades now." A pause. "I'm offering you that chance. The chance to be your own master."

His words—every one of them—hit the mark with impeccable precision. It was as if he were able to read Ruri'iro Kujaku's mind.

Yet, the peacock was unmoved. "Without him, I have no life. I won't be lured into my own destruction."

"I see that you, too, have been indoctrinated into that lie," Muramasa sighed. "It's one of the means by which the Shinigami keep control over their zanpakuto, by making them think that their existence is contingent upon their master. I can assure you, there are thousands, perhaps millions, of zanpakuto whose energies have continued to exist even after their masters have died."

"Why should I believe you? And even if it is true, why would you want to free me from my master? You must have a plan, something you hope to gain."

Again, Muramasa smiled indulgently. "My, my, you are much more inquisitive, much more intelligent than any of the others so far. They heard the word freedom and that was all they needed to know." He regarded Ruri'iro Kujkau curiously. "I'm really quite surprised that it's you showing the most resistance. I would have thought, with the way things are between you and your master, that you would be eager to join us; but it seems you still have some vestige of affection for him."

Now, it was Ruri'iro's turn to proffer the condescending grin. "You're obviously not a mind reader, or you'd know that I have no remaining affection for him. All I have now is loathing. But he is my master, and I would prefer to stay with him than join a stranger on some vague promise of freedom."

"Then we will miss having you," Muramasa sighed. He held out his hand. "Won't we?"

Hoozukimaru entered the shrine.

"Hoozukimaru?" Ruri'iro Kujaku was stunned. "What are you—you're not going with him, are you?"

The dragon was his usual blustery self and did not seem one bit concerned with the idea being proposed. "Why not?" he shrugged. "I think I'm due for a bit of freedom, making my own decisions, doing my own thing."

"But our masters—"

"When was the last time you cared about Little Pretty?" Hoozukimaru challenged. "He hasn't cared about you in decades." He put his hand against the wall. "Come on, Flashy. It won't be any fun without you. What's the sense of being free if I don't have someone I can be free with?"

"That—that doesn't even make sense—" Ruri'iro began.

"It doesn't have to make sense. Come on," the dragon pressed. "You've been miserable for so long. This is a chance for a new start, where you get to choose what you want to do. I don't want to go without you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku balked. "If I don't go, you'll still leave anyway?"

"I don't want to remain a slave," Hoozukimaru answered. "If you won't come with me . . . yes, I'm still going."

"You . . . you'd leave me alone here?" Ruri'iro Kujaku could not believe what he was hearing.

"I might still be able to come inside and see you—"

"But will you?"

Hoozukimaru sighed. "Flashy . . . why are you even thinking about this? You know you don't want to stay with him. And I want you with me. I need you with me."

Reluctantly, Ruri'iro Kujaku held up his hand and grasped Hoozukimaru's through the plane of the wall. He emerged slowly, cautiously, never taking his eyes from Muramasa.

"I'm so glad you decided to join us," Muramasa said. He held up his hand in front of Ruri'iro Kujaku's face and made a strange motion of folding each finger down over his palm. It struck the peacock as exceedingly bizarre, and he backed away from the gesture. "The others will be happy, as well."

"The others?" Ruri'iro asked.

It was Hoozukimaru who answered. "You didn't think we were the only two, did you? Hoo, you're in for a surprise."

"Well, it may be a surprise, but I'm still not sure it's the right thing to do," the kujaku fretted.

"Trust me," Hoozukimaru assured him. "It'll be great. From here on in, we get to make the decisions."

* * *

The first decision, however, was _not_ theirs to make.

Muramasa led them out of the Seireitei, across a short stretch of woodland and to the scrub-shrouded entrance to an underground passageway. They followed the tunnel as it sloped downwards through the rough-hewn rock, the air growing colder and damper, the only light coming from a pale white aura emanating from Muramasa's body.

At length, they came upon a heavy wood and iron door, old and rusted but still formidable. It opened onto the top of a flight of uneven steps cut into the rock and descending down to a series of plateaus, below which ran a silent underground river.

The steps and the plateaus were lit by a number of torches, and by their light, Ruri'iro Kujkau was able to behold the most unusual collection of creatures he had ever seen.

He knew them immediately. Their reiatsu alone identified them as zanpakuto spirits, and given Ruri'iro's sensitivity to spirit energy and his keen discernment of individual reiatsu signatures, he knew right away those into whose presence he was entering.

As he and Hoozukimaru descended the steps, following Muramasa's slow, measured movements, Ruri'iro was fully aware that every eye was upon him. Normally, he would have relished such attention, but this time, he felt . . . disgusted and uncomfortable. In his own superior way, he felt that they should not even be permitted to gaze upon him. They were repulsive; he was beautiful. They were unrefined and base; he was genteel and sophisticated. They possessed mediocre powers; his were unfathomable.

And yet . . . they didn't know him. They did not know whom they were looking at.

Or if they did, it was because he was with Hoozukimaru. They could not know him from sight, for they had never seen him. They had never even seen his true shikai. And their leering, appraising stares now only made Ruri'iro Kujkau regret his decision to come.

At the bottom of the steps, Muramasa turned to Hoozukimaru. "Help him to feel at home." And with that, he retreated back up the steps and was gone.

"At home?" Ruri'iro grumbled. "Impossible. This place is horrible. There's nothing beautiful here at all."

"Come on, and let's sit down over on the ledge," Hoozukimaru said.

"I thought we were going to have all kinds of freedom," Ruri'iro stated, following Hoozukimaru to a low stone bank carved into one of the rock walls. "This feels more like a prison than my own world."

"Stop being so negative," Hoozukimaru chided. "We don't get our freedom with the snap of a finger. We have to . . . pry it away from our masters."

"Pry it away?"

"Those are Muramasa's words," the dragon shrugged. "He'll explain it all when he's ready, I'm sure."

Coming to the bank, Ruri'iro Kujaku did not sit. Instead, his eye was caught by a truly daunting sight. Just within the shadow cast by the nearest torch stood a man. And what a man. He was frighteningly thin, bare from the waist up, covered in rags from the waist down. He wore a heavy chain belt at his waist, secured by a large bronze clasp. His black hair hung straight down over his face, obscuring his eyes for the most part, with only an occasional gleam of white shining through like a beacon in fog. He carried a large, stone grave marker, secured to his back by a chain running across his chest. And on his shoulder, he bore a massive ball and chain, shackled to his left wrist.

"Wabisuke . . . " The peacock's voice was barely a whisper, loud enough for only Hoozukimaru to hear.

"Is that who that is? I was wondering. He doesn't say much."

Ruri'iro was surprised. "You mean you can't sense who he is from his reiatsu?"

"Eh, reading reiatsu isn't my thing. You know that."

"Well, well, well, well, well . . . well!"

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked up to see the approach of a female zanpakuto, and he braced himself.

"I kinda figured you were going to be gorgeous, but wow . . . you're a hundred times better than what I imagined. And I'll bet you're a hundred times more arrogant than what I imagined, too."

"A thousand times more," Ruri'iro replied with a condescending tolerance in his voice.

"Oh, that's no way to talk to me," the woman purred, pressing up against him and gazing playfully into his eyes. "If our masters are friends, we can be friends, too." A pause. "I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't think you'd join us. Your master is so . . . snobby."

"He has reason to be," Ruri'iro replied, surprised and disgusted to find himself defending Yumichika. He ran his eyes over the woman's body in a blatant assessment of her appearance. She was tall and thin with enormous breasts. She wore a pink fur top, cropped to reveal her mid-section and a strange pair of poofy shorts that had the look of pantaloons and were made of the same pink fur. Her hair was brown and short, styled to give the appearance of two cat-like ears, and she had two tiny saber teeth that gave her mouth a look that was more akin to a kitten, as opposed to a hunter. But the most unusual feature was the pink tail that swished and curled behind her, tempting observers to try and snatch it.

Ruri'iro Kujaku found her spirit manifestation to be fitting. She looked as dopey as he had imagined. "You look even more ridiculous than I would have thought."

"Awwww, don't be mean. It's just not right for ugly words to come out of such a beautiful mouth."

"Then don't say bad things about my master, or I'll be forced to label _your_ master as a drunk and an airhead . . . Haineko."

"Oooh-hooo! You recognize me!"

"Of course, I do. Our masters spend enough time together," Ruri'iro replied distastefully. "I'd know your reiatsu anywhere. It's so . . . brazen."

"Brazen! I like that! Brazen!" She called back over her shoulder, "Did you hear that? He called me brazen!"

At this announcement – and invitation—there approached another female, this one child-like in appearance. The expression of perpetual naiveté on her face would have revealed her identity even if her reiatsu hadn't. So much like her master . . .

This was Tobiume.

And while Ruri'iro Kujaku might have felt a certain affinity for Haineko, given their masters' relationship, he had never been able to view Tobiume or her master, Momo Hinamori with any degree of respect. Momo Hinamori had been the Vice Captain of Squad Five – Aizen's lieutenant. And she'd been so mesmerized by the man, so caught in up in idol worship of him, that she'd been the perfect dupe to help Aizen carry out his plan. And even after Aizen's treachery had almost cost her her own life, she had remained pathetically hopeful that he could somehow be redeemed, that the guilt could be removed from his shoulders . . .

Now, looking at Tobiume, Ruri'iro Kujaku understood even better, his master's antipathy towards Hinamori. Tobiume looked the part of an innocent and ignorant school girl. Her long brown hair hung down her back and in two strands on either side of her face. She wore a purple hakama and a white kosode, bound at her waist with a yellow obi. A pink sash hovered around her shoulders and behind her back, and at the ends of the sash were affixed yellow metallic balls that looked like large jingle bells.

"You _are _brazen," she remarked to Haineko, then to Ruri'iro Kujaku. "I'm Tobiume—"

"Yes, I know," the peacock replied impatiently.

"You're not at all what I expected from Ayasegawa's zanpakuto," she went on. "His shikai is so simple, I thought you'd be . . . much plainer."

Ruri'iro turned his countenance to Hoozukimaru and regarded him with both a pleading eye begging for deliverance and a threatening eye warning of the just comeuppance the dragon could expect for bringing him here.

Hoozukimaru felt compelled to assist, and he was none too gracious about it. "You'll have to drool over him later," he said bluntly, then he took hold of Ruri'iro's arm and leapt to a high ledge.

"How could you bring me to a place like this?!" Ruri'iro hissed fretfully. "I don't want to know any of them! I don't want to be stuck here in the dark, underground, in the—"

"Slow down, Flashy," Hoozukimaru said, rubbing his friend's shoulder. "You can't blame them for being curious about you. You've been hidden from them since day one. They don't even know your reiatsu. They don't—they don't even know your real name."

"Wonderful. So even here, among other zanpakuto, I'm to be called by that hideous name?"

"No," the dragon replied. "You can tell them the truth – about you and your powers. Eventually, when you feel comfortable about it."

"Why would I want to tell them? It's not as if they'll ever get to—"

"What are you doing up here? You're not being very sociable."

The sound of a tiny female voice preceded the appearance of . . .

. . . an insect.

Or what Ruri'iro Kujaku would have liked to think of as an insect.

Only he knew better.

There hovering before him was a zanpakuto spirit no larger than his hand. She was wearing the yellow and black stripes of a hornet over her shoulders and barely covering her breasts, which were small and hardly in need of covering. Her midsection was bare, clear down to just below her hips, where the yellow and black material formed a pair of billowy pants like a clown's costume. She had thick, long brown hair, wound into two buns on either side of her head, from the center of which flowed two ponytails. And admittedly, this zanpakuto's appearance surprised Ruri'iro Kujaku, for he knew her master would never approve of such immodesty.

This was Suzumebachi, zanpakuto of Captain Soifon of Squad Two.

"We came up here because we wanted to be left alone," Ruri'iro replied.

Suzumebachi zipped around him for a closer look from every angle. A gleeful smile lit up her face. "I think the ice princess is in for some competition."

From down below came a chorus of agreement and anticipatory murmurs.

"Oh, he's a lot more beautiful than she is, the frigid prig." This was clearly Haineko's voice.

Ruri'iro Kujaku bristled at the remarks, for he knew precisely of whom they were speaking; and the idea that his beauty should be compared to anyone else's . . .

"I can't wait to see her face when she sees him—"

"What I want to know is why are _you_ here?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku straightened up at the sound of this voice. He came to the brink of the ledge and looked over. Without even realizing it, he smiled – a wicked, self-satisfied show of interest.

Glaring up at him was a being demonic in appearance. His half-naked body was the color of dark ash, highlighted with red. His eyes were bluish-white and iris-less, his ears pointed at the tips. The top of his head tapered off into a mane of wild black hair. Over his shoulder, he carried a two-bladed scythe. He was a truly hellish vision.

And for the first time since coming to this place, Ruri'iro Kujaku felt something other than regret, and so he decided to respond to the question with something other than a flippant answer.

"I'm here because Muramasa wanted me to be here."

"But you're not a captain's or vice captain's zanpakuto. You're like Kuchiki's zanpakuto—second-rate. You have no business being here. Your master is only a fifth seat."

"You know, I wanted him here, too," Hoozukimaru put forth, leaning forward over a clump of fallen rock to peer down at the taunter and in preparation of enjoying a good moment of contention.

But Ruri'iro Kujaku needed no help. "Maybe I am second-rate," he said in a droll and provocative tone, "But my master and I were strong enough to defeat you and your master."

A collective gasp echoed through the cavern.

"You bastard!"

"Come now, Kazeshini, I would have thought you'd already have told everyone about that," Ruri'iro mocked. "I mean, a lowly fifth seat beating a lieutenant—"

"Careful, birdbrain, or I'll reveal your secret to everyone," the angry zanpakuto replied.

"Go ahead. See if I care," Ruri'iro replied, swooping down to stand in front of him. "I'm not the one who wants to hide my abilities. I don't care if everyone here knows my true nature." A pause. "And I'd be happy to match powers with you again. It was so . . . breath-taking last time.""

Kazeshini, as the zanpakuto belonging to Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi, was a spirit with a lot of anger, a cynical and sarcastic nature, and a notoriously short fuse. Coupled with a violent and destructive core, he was easily provoked. He took a step back and held his weapon out in front of him. "I'm not as wishy-washy as my master," he warned. "I won't hesitate to kill you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku was about to draw his own weapon, but yet another new voice rang out.

"Stop bickering with each other."

Haineko groaned and turned to Suzumebachi. "Great, like usual , she shows up just in time to ruin everything. It was about to get good."

From the far side of the cavern there came a spirit that could only be that of Sode No Shirayuki, Rukia Kuchiki's zanpakuto. The figure that emerged was cold and delicate, stunningly beautiful and possessing an air of detachment that Ruri'iro Kujaku would have found beguiling in any other beautiful creature.

Sode No Shirayuki was petite, like her master. Her hair was white like the snow, falling at different lengths and giving her the appearance of chiseled perfection. Her eyes were a glacial blue, her skin the color of ivory and as smooth as porcelain. She wore a pale violet kimono that draped in a way that elongated her body and added to her elegance.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was not particularly impressed, although even if he had been, he would never have admitted it.

Up on the ledge, Hoozukimaru was not about to leave this one to chance. He leapt down, landing behind Ruri'iro Kujaku. He stepped up and wrapped his arms around him from behind in a possessive manner, meant more to show the peacock that he was coveted than to prevent him from doing anything rash. Hoozukimaru's entire demeanor let everyone know that Ruri'iro Kujaku was, in the dragon's opinion, the most important thing in that cavern.

And the exclusive property of Hoozukimaru.

Ruri'iro Kujaku leaned back comfortably against the muscled chest.

"You stay out of this, popsicle," Kazeshini spat. "This is between me and feathers."

"We don't want Muramasa to come back to find us fighting," Sode No Shirayuki said calmly. She had a smooth, soothing voice . . .

. . . that grated on Ruri'iro's ears like the sound of tearing metal.

She came closer and regarded Ruri'iro Kujaku with the same sort of assessing gaze that the peacock usually directed at others.

"You must be Fuji Kujaku," she supposed.

Hoozukimaru felt the body in his arms tense, and he tightened his embrace to assure Ruri'iro that there was no reason to get upset.

To his credit, Ruri'iro Kujaku managed an artificial smile. "My name is Ruri'iro Kujaku."

Sode No Shirayuki looked puzzled, and Ruri'iro could sense the incomprehension in the rest of them.

"But your master calls you Fuji Kujaku," Shirayuki stated.

"Yes, he does," Ruri'iro agreed.

"Why?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was enjoying the attention, for all ears were listening. He saw no reason not to answer the question.

"To hide my true power," he replied.

"Your true power?" This from Tobiume.

"What is your true power?" Haineko asked, stepping forward.

Again, Hoozukimaru drew his arms tighter, warning the peacock that right now might not be a good time to answer. Better to wait until they could be sure that these were trustworthy beings.

Ruri'iro Kujaku sensed the dragon's restraint, and yet he so wanted to brag about his abilities. Still, he sided with Hoozukimaru's better judgment and leaned his head back.

"I think I need to keep that to myself for now." And as he said this, he looked over at Kazeshini with a taunting grin. "Unless you want to tell them, Kazeshini."

"Screw you," the demon retorted.

Ruri'iro Kujaku, feeling a sense of his own importance, turned his cheek into Hoozukimaru's body. "I'm weary of this conversation."

Hoozukimaru loved the disrespectful superiority, and in the next moment, he had taken them both back up to the ledge. "We almost had a little excitement, eh?" he quipped.

Ruri'iro answered him by turning face-to-face and wrapping his arms around the dragon. After a few seconds, he raised his head and regarded Hoozukimaru with fondness. "You knew precisely how to keep me from acting up, didn't you?"

"Precisely."

After a few more seconds, he said, "I want to ask you something."

Hoozukimaru nodded. "Go 'head."

The azure peacock drew back a bit, so as to be able to look him in the eye. "Why did you leave Madarame? I thought you two had a good relationship."

"It was good as far as it went, but that wasn't far enough," came the reply. "I wanted my freedom. I wanted to come and go as I pleased. I didn't want to have to answer to anyone but myself." A pause. "I'm surprised you were so reluctant to come with us. With all the anger you have towards Little Pretty, I would have thought you'd jump at the chance to be free of him. Isn't that what you've wanted for a long time now?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku nodded slowly. "It's still what I want."

Hoozukimaru eyed him curiously. "So, why the hesitation?"

"I'm not sure," Ruri'iro answered. "Maybe . . . I don't like the feeling I get from Muramasa."

"Eh, bullshit," Hoozukimaru dismissed. "I know what it is. You say you want to be free of your master, and I believe you. But I think you want one thing even more."

The peacock regarded him sideways. "Oh? And what's that?" he asked.

"You want him to love you. You want him to come back to you, so things can be the way things used to be," Hoozukimaru stated, and he was absolutely sure of his words.

"Things can never go back to what they were," Ruri'iro sighed. "And love was never a part of what he felt for me. I've known that for a long time. I was holding onto hope. But not anymore."

"Well, then, let's both use this chance to break past the restraints our masters put on us. It's worth trying, don't you think?"

Ruri'iro nodded, then as he turned his attention to look out over the lower levels, he added beneath his breathe, "It will also be a chance to get even."


	20. Chapter 20

_**Dear Reader, Full swing into the Zanpakuto Rebellion Arc. Please excuse me if I take some creative license. It's just awfully hard to give everyone their "one speaking line" when you're trying to write prose. Also, here you will find more character descriptions and "opinions" as taken from Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku. I do have to admit that I am partial to Hyorinmaru and Zabimaru as they appeared in this particular arc, as you will see from Ruri'iro Kujaku's impressions of them. And I hope my depictions, however brief, of Hisagi and Kira, aren't too far off the mark! I imagine this segment of the story will be over in two or three chapters, and then it's on to Part III. But what happens between Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku is very important, because it sets the stage for Part III. Enjoy. TK**_

* * *

Chapter 20 Freedom

"_I can understand the rain that falls,  
__waves that crash upon the shore.  
__And I know that everyone must have freedom today,  
__But in my dreams, I see you walking away."_

_Silverbird  
_Justin Hayward

The nightingale had finished. The lark had not yet begun.

And Yumichika would be happy never to hear the morning bird's song, for at the moment, he was sure he had found the meaning of perfect contentment.

He lay on the cusp of sleep—indeed, had lain there all night, his body insisting on slumber, but his will, being the stronger, demanding wakefulness. He did not want to sleep, for he knew it would bring the moment to an end all the sooner.

Ikkaku lay beside him, facing him in his sleep, one arm stretched across his waist. And for once, there was no snoring! Ikkaku, despite his fast start the previous evening, had gone to bed sober. That made for a quiet sleeper in his case.

There had been no sex, no intimacy of any kind, other than the comfort of their two bodies side-by-side. It was only on rare occasion that Ikkaku permitted such closeness, and Yumichika was careful not to overreach his hand when such occasions arose.

Over the past hundred years since coming to the Gotei 13, the two of them had come to a tacit understanding of what each expected of the other and what each was actually willing to give. It was baffling to outsiders, for they could not comprehend Yumichika's devotion to Ikkaku, who often seemed indifferent and even callous where Yumichika was concerned. No one knew their history, for they had both agreed that such events as had formed and tested their friendship should remain private, something between just the two of them. As such, no one knew of Yumichika's business practices in Mito. No one knew of Ikkaku's vagrant and violent wanderings, although they might have been able to guess at that one. No one knew of the bliss of Venla, the sweat and refusals of Guckoo, the dull pointlessness of months of wandering through the lower numbers searching out opponents for Ikkaku to fight. No one knew of the trials of their journey to find Kenpachi Zaraki.

All the dangers, the foolishness, the intimacies, the angers . . . these were all known only to Ikkaku and Yumichika. They formed the shared experiences of two souls that could not be further apart in demeanor, temperament, and character. But perhaps that was what made them work so well together.

For his own part, Yumichika did not care how others viewed his relationship with Ikkaku. If they wanted to label him subservient, let them. If they wanted to believe that he a fool because of his devotion, that did not bother him. As long as they thought he was beautiful, what difference did their other opinions make? They only thing they could objectively judge was what they saw on the outside. They could not know what was inside him or what was inside Ikkaku that made Yumichika care so deeply for him. They should not speculate on what they could not know, but the fact that they did meant nothing to Yumichika.

He knew one thing for certain, and that was that his love for Ikkaku had only grown stronger and that he was less willing now than ever before to risk losing him.

Moments like this only reinforced that certainty.

Such displays of affection did not flow naturally from Ikkaku; they were the result of calculated decision and effort. How easily Ikkaku could discard Yumichika's need for these moments of tenderness and recollection. The fact that he did not simply brush them aside or make light of them was proof enough of Ikkaku's own brand of stoic devotion.

And Yumichika was satisfied, for he knew it was the best Ikkaku could give.

He turned his head and looked at Ikkaku in the darkness, brightened into gray by the moonlight glancing down through the screen that led out into the courtyard.

"I can never repay you," he whispered. "Even after all the mistakes we've both made, I can never repay you."

He would never forget the sound of Ikkaku's voice . . .

"_I would rather starve to death than see you do that again. I'd rather go naked. I'd rather live in the streets. I never want to see that again."_

That had been the moment. Ikkaku might imagine that it had been his taking care of Yumichika after the attack, or his taking him to Venla to protect him, or any other of a number of events when Ikkaku had rescued him. But there was only one moment that had changed Yumichika's entire outlook on life.

"_I would rather starve to death than see you do that again."_

He scooted closer, and Ikkaku, in his sleep, tightened his arm around his waist.

An hour later, Yumichika finally gave in to his body's demands and fell into a peaceful sleep filled with pleasant dreams.

* * *

"How long do we have to stay in a place like this? I'm so bored."

Ruri'iro Kujaku could only just hear Haineko's complaining over the sound of Hoozukimaru's snoring. He rolled over so he was face-to-face with the dragon, yet still hidden from the sight of all the other zanpakuto, and edged closer into the massive body shielding him from undeserving eyes. The peacock had been asleep, but the incessant whining of Matsumoto's zanpakuto had finally scraped through the barrier of unconsciousness. Even being up on the ledge had not taken the edge of the shrill voice, and now Ruri'iro was trying to block it out by cozying up to the bulk that was Hoozukimaru.

"I'm going to take a look outside," Haineko stated.

"Don't." The sound of Sode No Shirayuki's voice made Haineko's voice sound like sweet summer rain falling on the leaves. "Everyone is not here yet."

Ruri'iro Kujaku grimaced and pressed his face into Hoozukimaru's chest to stop himself from doing or saying something he shouldn't.

On that instant, the snoring ceased, and Ruri'iro Kujaku felt the dragon's hand, large and hard and firm, settle on his hip, a gesture of acknowledgment and comfort.

"Everyone? How many more are coming?" Haineko asked.

"I'm not sure," Shirayuki replied.

The sinister cackle of Kazeshini rang out. "Who cares about the numbers? In fact, I wouldn't mind doing this all alone!"

Hoozukimaru was not happy about being woken from his nap. Nor was he happy that the most prominent voices were those belonging to zanpakuto whom he knew irritated Ruri'iro Kujaku. As one of the more senior and seasoned zanpakuto present, he took it upon himself to assert some authority.

"Shut up. There's no need to rush into things."

"I'll say." This was from Suzumebachi. "A man without patience is so unattractive."

At that moment, the door at the top of the steps opened, and Muramasa entered. He was not alone. As he descended, he encountered Tobiume.

"Welcome back."

Ruri'iro Kujaku actually clutched at the fur of Hoozukimaru's mane. "Idiot," he hissed under his breath. He could not believe that Tobiume was acting as if Muramasa were a friend worthy of a kindly greeting. Actually, considering that it was Tobiume, he could believe it.

Hoozukimaru grinned affectionately. "You're doing good," he whispered.

"We have a new friend," Muramasa announced. "Look after him."

Hoozukimaru lifted his head to see a male figure descending the steps. He was of average height and build, mostly human in appearance. He had thick green hair that cascaded down his back, and a benign face set with strange glittering eyes and an X-shaped silver swatch that intersected between those eyes, reaching to the corners of his face. He wore a voluminous pale violet kimono over a dark blue breastplate. The kimono was bound with a green obi from which hung a thin chain with a crescent-shaped icon dangling at the end. A two-strand rope-type adornment reached across his chest, keeping the garment from billowing and adding even more to the grandeur of his ensemble. He had a high collar of ice behind his neck, and both his hands and feet were ice-covered and in the shape of claws. He even had a dragon-like tail that flowed like a royal train. There was something regal and awe-inspiring about his appearance, and yet he also conveyed a sense of humility and simplicity.

"I wonder who he is," Hoozukimaru said softly.

Ruri'iro Kujaku, who had not shifted even an inch to steal a glance, replied matter-of-factly, "He's Hyorinmaru."

Hoozukimaru was surprised. "Hyorinmaru? Are you sure? You haven't even looked at him."

"I don't need to look," Ruri'iro answered. "I can tell from his reiatsu. It's Hyorinmaru."

Haineko was still griping. "Hey, how much longer are we going to hang around here?"

"Just bear it a little longer. The rest of our comrades will awaken shortly," Muramasa replied. "The age of the Soul Reapers will end soon."

Muramasa passed among the zanpakuto for several minutes, apparently assessing their states-of-mind. Hoozukimaru could hear only bits and pieces, and he wasn't really interested even in those snatches he did hear. Then Muramasa appeared on the ledge, staring down at its occupants with his disturbingly dead eyes.

"Is he unwell?" he asked.

Hoozukimaru was about to reply, but Ruri'iro Kujaku beat him to it.

"I'm fine, as far as you need to be concerned."

Muramasa was not dissuaded by the superior attitude. "Then are you having trouble fitting in?"

"You are asking a peacock to walk among street pigeons," he answered. "Why would I want to fit in?"

"Ruri'iro Kujaku, face me."

"Why should I? Isn't it enough that I'm here?"

"Flashy," Hoozukimaru prompted warily.

With a groan of acquiescence, Ruri'iro Kujaku sat up, turned and faced Muramasa; but if Hoozukimaru had been expecting meek agreeability, he'd been mistaken. Ruri'iro Kujaku was as petulant as ever.

"Where is the freedom you promised us? You don't even want us to leave this cave—"

Muramasa held up his hand and curled his fingers down one-by-one into a loose fist, just as he had done before.

It was baffling to Ruri'iro Kujaku. Was it meant to be some assertion of power or authority? The peacock found it to be just plain weird.

"Don't be so hasty," Muramasa said in a calm voice. "All good things are worth waiting for."

"We'll see," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied with a careless shrug.

Muramasa eyed him closely. "Why are you so contrary?" A carefully timed pause. "Has he hurt you so badly that you've become unable to trust anyone?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked at him spitefully. "I don't know what you're talking about—"

"I'm talking about your Soul Reaper, the one you call master," Muramasa replied. "Your hatred for him is so violent, you can't hide it. Not from me, at least."

"I'm not trying to hide anything—"

"He's ruined you." Muramasa's voice was smooth, unemotional, observational. "He's been so bad to you so often that he's ruined you."

"Then you don't need me," Ruri'iro Kujaku retorted. "I should be able to leave."

"Do you want to leave?" Muramasa asked.

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked at Hoozukimaru, but the dragon was giving him no indication of how he should answer.

"Yes," he replied at last.

"Then you may leave," Muramasa replied. "I will send you back to your inner world."

"I don't want to go back to my inner world," Ruri'iro Kujaku protested. "I want to leave here, but I want to be free. If I go back to my inner world, I will be a prisoner again."

Muramasa narrowed his eyes. "He hasn't put you in a cage for many, many years—"

Ruri'iro Kujaku started to his feet, a stricken expression coming over his face. Looking at the other zanpakuto spirits, he could see they had all heard Muramasa's statement, and it both embarrassed and infuriated him.

"Don't speak of that!" he demanded.

"Why are you blaming me for simply relating the truth?" Muramasa asked. "I'm not the one who did those things to you. Pretty Peacock, of all the zanpakuto I've ever known, your master treats you the worst. I'm not surprised that you've hidden the truth from your fellow zanpakuto."

"I haven't hidden the truth—"

"He's the one who's been hidden," Hoozukimaru interjected, standing up behind Ruri'iro Kujaku and putting his hands his arms, for he could see the fury building. "None of these other zanpakuto knew anything about how he and his master got along . . . until now. Most of them didn't even know who he was when we brought him here. They've never experienced his full, true reiatsu."

"That's astounding," Muramasa said. "How a beauty like you could have been kept under wraps for so long—"

"I don't want to go back to my own world," Ruri'iro Kujaku seethed. "With or without the cages, I was a prisoner. You promised us freedom, but we haven't had any freedom since we came here."

"Others have been here longer than you have," Muramasa said. "They've expressed their impatience, but they understand when I tell them it won't be much longer. There are only a few more that have yet to join us." He reached out and carefully touched the pads of his finger tips against the flawless cheek. "If you can find the patience within you to wait one more day, you will have the chance to gain your freedom. You will have the chance to defeat your master and be free forever. A creature as beautiful as you deserves to be free, so everyone can gaze upon you."

But Ruri'iro did not heed the flattery and withdrew from the gruesome touch. "Defeat my master?"

"Yes," Muramasa replied. "If you truly want to be free, you must defeat him. Everyone here understands that."

Ruri'iro Kujaku turned and looked at Hoozukimaru. "Did you know that?"

Hoozukimaru nodded.

"We can't defeat them!" Ruri'iro Kujaku protested. "If they die, so do we—"

"I already told you that is a lie," Muramasa interjected. "If you don't believe me, then you will never be free." A pause. "And why do you assume that defeat equals death?"

"Doesn't it?" Ruri'iro challenged.

"Not necessarily. The goal isn't to kill your wielder; it's to break the bond that exists between the slave and the master. That bond is stronger between some than it is between others. Each zanpakuto will know how far he has to go to destroy that bond," Muramasa explained. "For some it will mean the death of their master. For others, it will not." He once again intensified his scrutinous gaze. "But I think you will want to kill him, no matter what." With that, he turned and went back to the stairway.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was mortified. Everyone had heard the exchange, and now they all knew that the peacock was a slave to his master, a slave who had been kept hidden, purposefully cut off from communicating with the other zanpakuto even as he could sense their presence – a restriction he had accepted in order to avoid even more grievous punishments. For a being who valued pride almost as much as beauty, it was a humiliation he could never live down.

And it was all his master's fault. If Yumichika had treated him better, he never would have given in to Muramasa's temptations. If he had felt wanted and cherished, he would have been happy with his captivity. If he had been loved, no promise of freedom would have lured him from his master's side. But now, he'd been made a fool of in front of everyone . . .

His hatred for Yumichika burned like an inferno consuming his heart.

"You okay?" Hoozukimaru asked, as the flustered peacock turned away and fumed to the wall.

"I want to leave here."

"We will, as soon as we defeat our masters," Hoozukimaru replied.

"I've been made a fool of," Ruri'iro lamented.

"They weren't paying any attention to him—"

"Not by Muramasa! By my master!" Ruri'iro hissed. "Muramasa was right – he was only saying the things that my master's done to me. How—how could I have just sat by and let him treat me so badly for so long? And now—now, they all know about it."

"Flashy—"

"No, no, Hoozukimaru," Ruri'iro shook his head. "I know I've always had a short memory. I've never hung onto wrongs . . . I used to think that was a good thing, but now I know it was just weakness." He turned and there was a stony determination in his eyes. "Not anymore. If—if Muramasa is right, then all I want to do is defeat my master and leave here . . . forever."

Hoozukimaru put a hand on his shoulder. "That's what we're going to do. We'll teach our masters a lesson, and then we'll leave."

He hadn't expected Ruri'iro Kujaku to say anything in response, for the peacock was barely keeping the lid on an emotional outburst; but Ruri'iro spoke evenly and collectedly, as if he wanted to move on from his own upset.

"What lesson will you teach Madarame?"

After a moment of thought, the dragon replied, "Not to let my power go to waste, not to hold back." A pause. "What about you?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku glowered. "I don't want to teach him anything. I just want to be free of him."

Hoozukimaru could only hope that the anger the peacock felt right now was enough to carry him through Muramasa's plan. If Ruri'iro Kujaku wavered, it was unlikely Muramasa would let it go. And a confrontation between the two could only end in disaster.

For Ruri'iro Kujaku.

* * *

"We're both going to be late!"

"Don't blame me! You should have woken me sooner."

Yumichika grimaced a smile. "It's easier to wake the dead."

Ikkaku laughed in a maudlin voice. "We are the dead, from a certain point of view."

"I hope you're still laughing when Captain Zaraki chooses us as his sparring partners," Yumichika said.

"I can't imagine anything better," Ikkaku replied. "Well, unless Hoozukimaru decides he still doesn't want to cooperate."

"I hope he comes around soon, because next week we go out on wide patrol again, and what good will you be without your shikai?"

"What _good_ will I be?" Ikkaku echoed with mock outrage. Then, even though they were already late, to prove what use he would be, and moving at a fairly quick trot, he threw himself into Yumichika, tumbling him to the ground and landing on top of him.

The scuffle that ensued was short, the outcome predictable.

Straddled across Yumichika's waist, Ikkaku crowed, "I don't need my zankaputo to win."

"Oh, really?" Yumichika let a smidgen of his reiatsu break loose into the open space between them.

Ikkaku, feeling it and recognizing it as being at the stage where he could still resist, leapt to his feet and smirked down at him. "You fight dirty."

Yumichika got to his feet and smoothed over his uniform. "Not at all. I think my way of fighting is a lot . . . less messy than the way you fight."

The bell rang out marking the sixth hour.

"Now, we _are_ late," Yumichika humphed. "We'd better hurry."

Yumichika's prediction regarding Captain Zaraki's choice of sparring partners had been correct, and the better part of the morning was spent with the two officers getting their tails handed to them by their commanding officer.

Ikkaku was still unable to release Hoozukimaru, and this grated on Captain Zaraki's nerves, for it greatly lessened the challenge of the match. But when Yumichika was also unable to release Fuji Kujaku, the situation became downright untenable for their captain.

"How the hell am I supposed to leave you two in charge when you can't even release your shikais?" Zaraki bellowed, as his two opponents picked themselves up off the ground for the dozenth time.

"In charge? Of what?" Ikkaku grumbled, wiping the blood as it dripped down over his eye to his chin.

"Me and Yachiru have some business to take care of, and we're leaving this afternoon," Zaraki replied. "But now maybe I should cancel the plans, since you two can't pull it together."

"We can pull it together," Ikkaku ground out, deciding not to tell his captain that he hadn't been able to call out his zanpakuto for several days now. "This is just – our zanpakuto are just playing games."

"Then tell them it's not funny. In the meantime, I'm going to go find some guys whose zanpakuto aren't such cut-ups." Zaraki turned and stalked back towards the rest of the squad, Yachiru leaping up to his shoulder as he passed.

"Shit," Ikkaku muttered. "I'm going back to my inner world to find this prick and bring him to his senses. This isn't funny anymore. And what the hell happened with you? Why didn't Fuji Kujaku release?"

"I don't know," Yumichika replied. "He's always been difficult, but he's never refused to release his shikai." A pause. "You know, he and Hoozukimaru hang out a lot together. They probably both came up with this idea to teach us a lesson."

"What fucking lesson are they teaching us?"

"I don't know, maybe how much we really depend on them?" Yumichika replied.

"Well, I haven't learned a damned thing, but I am getting more pissed off with every second," Ikkaku scowled. "And I'm going to go inside right now and show him who's boss."

Yumichika watched as Ikkaku stormed to the far side of the training ground and disappeared through the gateway. Then he looked down at his own hand, where Ruri'iro Kujaku was still clutched in his fingers.

"Did you think this would convince me to come inside?" he asked in the silence of his mind. "Well, it hasn't. I have no interest in why you're doing this. It doesn't change anything about the way I feel. It just proves to me that my opinion of you is still correct: you're nothing but a spoiled, self-centered brat who doesn't care about anything but your own desires."

He received no response, but then he had not expected one.

If communication were the key to the relationship between a zanpakuto and its master, then Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku had lost that key a century ago.

* * *

"Did your master really imprison you?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku startled at the sound of the voice, barely audible, a hissing whisper, coming from behind him. He turned to see Wabisuke emerge from the shadows.

Wabisuke appeared, to Ruri'iro Kujaku, as the image of torment, the afflicted soul struggling beneath the weight of its sorrows and regrets. There was nothing false or superfluous or ridiculous about him. And up until this moment, he'd been as silent as the grave.

And so, the temptation to respond flippantly or with irritation did not take hold this time.

"He did," Ruri'iro answered.

After a brief pause, Wabisuke said, "So did mine." He began to recede back into the shadows.

"Wabisuke?"

Wabisuke stopped, half in shadow, half in light. He did not speak.

Ruri'iro Kujaku took a step forward. "Do you . . . do you hate your master for treating you that way?"

Wabisuke's answer was chilling. "I hate him for a great many reasons."

With that, he went back fully into shadow.

The deep voice of Hoozukimaru followed. "And you have just as many reasons to hate your master, Flashy."

Ruri'iro Kujaku turned and regarded him in the flickering torchlight. "_More_ reasons," he said with certainty, then he struck a curious pose. "But I thought you liked my master. You always said you liked him."

"I was wrong," Hoozukimaru replied. "I didn't realize how badly he was treating you—"

"Yes, you did," Ruri'iro interrupted. "You've known for years how he treats me. I know it made you angry sometimes, but you never told me to turn against him. Until now . . . why is that?"

"Because I didn't know the possibility existed for us to be free," Hoozukimaru explained. "I figured, since we had no choice but to stay connected to our masters, it didn't make any sense to test that relationship. But now that Muramasa's shown us we don't have to stay tied to our Shinigami, it's simple. Why be loyal to someone who treats you worse than a slave?"

Ruri'iro's eyes widened. "Is that how you've really viewed my master all these years? And you never told me?"

"Because I knew you weren't ready to let go," the dragon replied. "Eh, you'd say you wanted to be free, but I knew you didn't. And besides, there was no way to be free, so why bother telling you the truth? Yeah . . . I've always hated Little Pretty. The only human I've hated more is my own master."

Ruri'iro Kujaku felt as if he'd entered an alternate world of opposites. He was positive—absolutely and unequivocally certain—that everything Hoozukimaru had just said was not true.

What was going on here?

And it was not only in Hoozukimaru that Ruri'iro had sensed the out-of-place emotions.

Tobiume, as much as Ruri'iro detested her, was harboring a bizarre resentment of her master, for whom she'd always possessed an unfailing and unwavering love and commitment. Suzumebachi had never shown anything but pride in Captain Soifon's abilities; now, she, too, radiated a sense of injustice, a desire for vengeance. And perhaps the strangest of all was Zabimaru, the zanpakuto belonging to Renji Abarai, Vice Captain of Squad Six.

Over the decades, Ruri'iro Kujaku had grown to enjoy the sensation of Zabimaru's reiatsu. Even though he'd never had any interaction with the zanpakuto, he'd been pleased to indulge the odd swirl of spirit energy any time it was strong enough for him to ascertain.

Zabimaru was an unusual being. A dual-natured zanpakuto, part baboon and part snake. Two very different personalities, both of which somehow reflected perfectly through their master. Snake was lethal, to be sure; but impatient, childish, and not given to reasonable thought. Baboon was the rational, calculating and mature component in the relationship, a kind of regulator of both Snake's and Abarai's impetuous nature.

Zabimaru had been in the cave when Ruri'iro Kujaku had arrived, but the peacock had paid little mind, so intense had been his dislike of the situation. But over the intervening hours, he'd spent a bit more time searching out and studying the reiatsus surrounding him.

Zabimaru's reiatsu was easily identified. The surprise had been the actual spirit manifestation of the zanpakuto. It looked nothing like what Ruri'iro Kujaku would have expected.

The two facets were present: Snake and Baboon.

But the appearance of the two . . . that was something Ruri'iro was still trying to get his head around.

Snake was a child with the appearance of a 10-year-old boy. He had a mop of short red hair, and over his ears were two conical white muffs. He had the fangs of a snake, but there was nothing more about him that was threatening, at least not in appearance. He wore a two-piece white outfit with yellow trim that looked like something a clown might wear. A long white tail trailed behind him, and around his neck was a broad yellow collar. He spoke and acted as a child, had the moods and temperament of a child, and whined incessantly like a child.

Baboon was . . . not a baboon at all. Snake referred to her as "Monkey" – and even that was questionable.

She certainly had the body of a woman – a shapely bombshell of a woman. Her shoulders and arms, her back and legs were covered in a green fur that dove in a low V to below her waist, exposing an ample portion of breast, which even Ruri'iro Kujaku found beguiling. Her face was genderless yet attractive with a perpetual confident smirk and challenging green eyes. Her hair was voluminous, short and spiky on top, the under layers reaching down below her waist in waves of unremarkable light brown, but with a pair of the black stripes that matched the tattoos on her master's face. She wore a belt of crossed chains, the longest of which was attached at the end to a collar around Snake's neck.

And when she spoke, her voice was masculine. Beyond masculine. Ruri'iro Kujaku would have said it _was_ a man's voice, full and deep but with a musical quality beneath the caustic tone.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had always liked Abarai, for he considered him to be immensely attractive in a nonconventional way. And Ruri'iro Kujaku loved nonconvention. And by extension, he had felt a pull towards Zabimaru, often lamenting that he could not reach out to meet him in the way other experienced zanpakuto had of communicating with each other.

It was not the same manner of communication that Ruri'iro Kujaku and Hoozukimaru shared, the ability of the peacock to open up his world for the dragon to enter. It was the more common method of mental contact that learned and practiced zanpakuto engaged in. Ruri'iro Kujaku had not met a single zanpakuto in all the years his master had been a Shinigami. He could sense them all and was highly attuned to even the slightest shifts in their reiatsu. But he'd kept to himself always. His refusal to communicate had been out of fear of what reaction his master might have. He knew the others had taken that refusal as a sign of the snobbery he must possess, the same sort of aloofness as displayed by his master. And in fact, when he had considered disobeying his master and reaching out to other zanpakuto, he found himself every bit the snob his master was. Even those zanpakuto whom he esteemed seemed so far beneath him from an aesthetic standpoint.

He had been in Zabimaru's presence for two days, and he'd not approached him once, but this time it had nothing to do with a sense of superiority. It had only to do with his own depressed and negative state-of-mind. Yet, he'd been able to sense very well the split emotional state of Zabimaru. Snake was ready to leap into the fight for the sheer fun of it. Monkey wanted only victory and the opportunity to prove something . . . Ruri'iro Kujaku couldn't quite pinpoint it, but the opportunity to prove something to Abarai. Together, they wanted to fight, but for completely different reasons.

"Are you mad at me for hating him?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku startled. He had completely lost himself in his thoughts and forgotten what he'd been talking about with Hoozukimaru. "Mad?"

"For hating Little Pretty."

"Oh, I . . . I just . . . it's surprising to—to hear you say that," Ruri'iro stammered.

"What's wrong? You're acting strange."

"I was just thinking," Ruri'iro replied.

"What?"

"Well, don't you find it odd that all these zanpakuto who were happy with their masters previously, including you, now suddenly hate their masters? I don't understand that."

"What's so weird about it? You hate your master." Hoozukimaru asked.

"But I've hated him for a long time," Ruri'iro answered. "And with good reason. These other zanpakuto spirits, most of them had good relationships with their masters. Why would they suddenly change their minds?"

Hoozukimaru grinned. "You think way too much."

At that moment, the door to the cavern opened and Muramasa came down the steps.

"My friends, the time has come."

* * *

"I can't believe we got called away from dinner for this," Ikkaku grumbled.

"It will still be there when we get back," Yumichika replied. "What I don't understand is why the Head Captain would call a meeting in a place like this?"

He was referring to Sokyoku Hill, which was not a hill at all, but rather a high plateau in the very center of the Seireitei. It stood adjacent to a massive citadel built upon another lower plateau which culminated in a series of shining towers and gleaming white buildings that appeared to climb up towards the heavens, step by step. On the northeastern side of the lower plateau rose up the second tallest structure: the prisoner's tower, otherwise known as the Senzaikyu, or Palace of Remorseful Sin. It was the final stop for those on their way to execution. It had a suspension bridge that spanned the distance, roughly two hundred yards, over to Sokyoku Hill.

Sokyoku Hill was named for the power it had once housed – the power of putting a soul to death, the power to execute. The Sokyoku had been a fairly benign and extremely complicated method of capital punishment, but it had met its end during the incursion by Kurosaki and his fellow ryoka in their rescue of Rukia Kuchiki. Now, all vestige of the device had been removed, and the plateau was nothing more than a plateau.

Yet, there was still a far more nefarious memory associated with Sokyoku Hill.

It was the site of Aizen's defection. The place from which he, Tosen and Ichimaru had ascended like gods towards the heavens and the opening in the sky that would admit them into the world of Hueco Mundo.

There were no good memories associated with the place, and choosing it as a meeting location at the juncture between night and day . . . it was unusual, to say the least.

"Maybe the old man is just going senile," Ikkaku scoffed, which prompted Yumichika to scold him with a simper.

At that moment, another Soul Reaper joined them.

"Hisagi-san," Ikkaku greeted him, using a formal address but not invoking the man's rank. He was on familiar enough grounds with him to know that dispensing of rank would not insult or anger him.

Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was vice captain of Squad Nine. He was a severe man who had come to Soul Society at the age of 28, and so he had retained the vitality and strength of a man in his prime. He was of average height, fit and muscular, with the body of an athlete. He wore his black hair cropped short. His face was broad and acorn-shaped, masculine without being a caricature. He wore a tattoo across the bridge of his nose that stretched to his left temple: a simple thick grey stripe. And below his left eye, he wore another: the number 69. To this day, neither Ikkaku nor Yumichika had had the courage to ask him the significance of the markings. Three scars ran in straight lines from above his right eye down to his jawline. His shihakusho, like so many officers, was the basic uniform but with his own personal stylizations. His kosode was sleeveless, and he wore a square-link choker around his throat and similar bands around both biceps.

Yumichika had always found him to be a physically attractive man, but his personality was decidedly less compelling.

Shuhei Hisagi was serious-minded, a fast-burner who had risen quickly in the ranks, and who took little interest in anything other than his job. He spent most of his waking hours on work-related tasks, and when those tasks were finished, he sunk his time into other activities such as being managing editor of The Seireitei Newsletter. Rarely did he indulge in anything fun or relaxing, and when he did perhaps on occasion, stop into one of the bars for a glass, he tended to be reticent, indifferent, and always checking the clock, as if he had somewhere else he'd rather be and something else he'd rather be doing.

He did not joke. He did not take part in any conversation that did not have a serious bent behind it. The expression of gravity rarely left his face. That seriousness, however, did not make him surly or angry or cruel. Just as he did not sway towards foolishness, neither did he embrace hostility. He was, for the most part, a humorless paragon of equanimity, a reliable second-in-command who had suddenly and unexpectedly been thrust into the position of acting captain.

People could have used Tosen's departure as an excuse for why Hisagi was so dour, but they all knew that wasn't true. Hisagi had been this way long before Captain Tosen's betrayal. In fact, the other officers had all marveled at what a perfect fit Hisagi had been as Tosen's lieutenant. Tosen had been a man possessed by the imposition of justice, the righting of wrongs, the idea that the cosmos could not mete out appropriate penalties and therefore, he personally would take up the banner and dole out justice as he saw fit.

Such a captain had been tailored made for Shuhei Hisagi, whose need for black and white, whose sense of obligation and commitment to duty needed to be met in order for him to feel as if he were contributing to a worthy cause. Anything that did not demand one hundred percent of his effort was not worth one percent of his attention.

"Do you know what's going on?" he asked.

"Not yet," Ikkaku replied.

"Seems like a strange place to hold a meeting," Hisagi went on. He glanced at Yumichika who was looking over towards Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku, standing several yards away.

"Here come Captain Hitsugaya and Rangiku," Yumichika announced, and in the next instant, the two appeared. "That's everyone except Squad One."

It drove Ikkaku crazy how Yumichika's sensitivity to reiatsu could predict the imminent arrival of other people, but it was a tremendous asset in battle, so Ikkaku did not complain. Instead, he turned his attention to where Captain Hitsugaya was speaking with the two senior captains.

Toshiro Hitsuguya was an anomaly of the first order. He had been the captain of Squad Ten for nearly twelve years, and as such he had a fairly good opinion of himself and his abilities. He might be a child in both age and appearance, but Soul Society had imparted to him a lifetime of experience in the sixty-seven years since his arrival in the spirit world. He had come from District One West, where he had lived with his grand-mother, a kindly woman of few words and subtle wisdom, the presence of temperance and prudence.

And Toshiro Hitsuguya had definitely needed those exalted virtues, that calming spirit, for he had been anything but a normal child. He could be called precocious, but there was little egotism to accompany his knowledge and understanding; and he could thank his grand-mother for that. He was certainly a prodigy, the youngest person ever to be appointed captain. And yet, always in the back of his mind, was a sense of not belonging, of not being accepted. It was this continuous poking at the tip of his consciousness that made him one of the more serious officers in the Gotei 13, despite his age.

For while his grand-mother had loved and doted upon him, Toshiro had been largely shunned and avoided by the rest of the village where he'd lived prior to coming to the Seireitei. And he'd been hard-pressed to explain it. Was it his silver hair? The chilly gaze of his green eyes? Was it his own self-conscious tendency to keep to himself? That last reason would not stand, for he knew that the reason he'd kept to himself was because no one else wanted to be around him.

Why? What was so offensive about him?

It was a question he had grown up with, a question that had haunted him and caused him a lot of pain and self-doubt in the early years.

And then _he_ had come along. The best friend anyone could ask for. The most amazing being he'd ever known. A love rivaled only by that which he felt for his grand-mother.

It had started out as a voice in his sleep, the deep, adult voice of a man searching out the one strong enough to wield him. The adult in the child Hitsugaya had responded to the challenge. The child in him had responded to the idea of one searching – searching for a place to belong. The sense of a kindred spirit had been overwhelming.

Hyorinmaru had filled every gap, reversed every unkindness, made up for every turned back, every cold eye. As far as Toshiro was concerned, there could be no greater companion, no more devoted protector. And no greater honor, for as the wielder of Hyorinmaru, Toshiro was the master of the strongest of all the ice-based zanpakuto.

Theirs had been an idyllic relationship based on their mutual desire to grow stronger, but even more so on their shared sense of isolation.

But something strange had happened a few days ago. Toshiro had been in his inner world. Hyorinmaru had come to him, and right away Toshiro had sensed something was wrong. But at his master's gentle inquiry and outstretched hand, the ice dragon spirit had flittered away. Given Hyorinmaru's devotion and love for his master, it had come as a complete shock to Toshiro.

But before he could ponder it much, his attention had been claimed by Matsumoto having a tantrum inside the squad headquarters building. She was angry because Haineko would not respond to her.

That was not the end. Lieutenant Isane Kotetsu of Squad Four had shown up with Hinamori and spoken of the same thing. Her zanpakuto, Itegumo, was not being obedient.

And now . . . just before nightfall, a summons had come. The head captain had sent out word through the hell butterflies. Meet on Sokyoku Hill immediately. Captains and Vice Captains.

"Captain Ukitake, what's going on, calling us out to a place like this?"

Captain Ukitake turned to face a captain young enough to be his own son. "Captain Hitsugaya," he acknowledged. "I'm not sure. No one had heard about this meeting. It was called last minute."

At that moment, Matsumoto noticed the presence of Rukia Kuchiki and approached her curiously. "You were summoned, too?"

Rukia Kuchiki was a tiny woman with a pleasant, if somewhat nondescript appearance. She wore her black hair short. Her bluish-purple eyes were large and always seemed to have a sad glint to them, even when she was smiling. She was the adopted sister of Byakuya Kuchiki, but she had none of his regalness – or his superciliousness. Still, her greatest devotion was to her adoptive brother, and she adored him in a manner almost akin to worship. "Yes, I don't know why, but I was called out, too."

"This certainly is an interesting group of faces," Captain Kyoraku noted. He turned to Ikkaku and Yumichika. "Are you two standing in for Captain Zaraki?"

Ikkaku replied, "We've never been asked to stand in for the captain."

Yumichika added, "But the captain and lieutenant are away. So, if you order us to stay and listen, we have no choice." He was hoping very much that Captain Kyoraku would dismiss them, but no such luck.

"Where did they go?" Kyoraku asked.

"I'm not sure," Yumichika replied. "It happens all the time."

"Why did the head captain call us out here?" Kurotsuchi wondered aloud from several yards away. He sounded annoyed.

Lieutenant Abarai spoke up. "Damn, this fog is nasty."

It was true. In a matter of seconds, a thick fog had arisen from nowhere, limiting visibility to a few feet, at best.

An eerie silence fell over the plateau, then the creaking of the bridge could be heard, as if someone were walking across it. Yumichika heightened his attention, reaching out to see if he could sense any unfamiliar presence, but instead all he felt was a faint tingle of a somewhat familiar reiatsu.

A moment later, a figure emerged from the fog.

It was Lieutenant Chojiro Sasakibe, Vice Captain of Squad One. He was walking like a man stricken. He did not speak, but reached out with one hand before collapsing face-down on the ground.

Captain Unohana and Lieutenant Kotetsu were at his side immediately. Captain Soifon turned to her own lieutenant, Marechiyo Omaeda.

"Be alert for the slightest presence."

If there were one man Yumichika found genuinely repulsive, it was Marechiyo Omaeda. Physically, he was not at all pleasant to look at. He was tall and large – fat, would be an accurate description, and at almost every turn, he was stuffing some kind of food into his mouth. His face was as bloated as the rest of his body, and his head was crowned with a shock of thinning black hair that he styled into a point on top. He had tiny eyes and huge lips and a big, broad nose.

But his looks were only part of the problem. Omaeda was coarse and vulgar, sloppy and slovenly – made all the worse by the fact that he came from a wealthy family. He had all the finery a soul could ask for, and yet it was no compensation for a messy, grotesque manner. And on top of that, he was a coward. Money and status had somehow bought him his position as the vice captain of Squad Two, a sad situation for Captain Soifon, who could only lament her misfortune and find new ways to overcome her subordinate's ineptitude, for the forces that had given Omaeda his commission had not been able to instill courage and sacrifice.

Even at this very moment, Omaeda was already trembling in fear at the arrival and collapse of Lieutenant Sasakibe.

"He's in full arrest!" Kotetsu stated in a voice that was calmer than she felt.

"Begin resuscitation immediately," Unohana replied.

Looking over the two women's shoulders as they worked was Vice Captain Izuru Kira, now acting captain of Squad Three. Unlike Omaeda, Kira was an attractive man but with a melancholy streak that could be wearying. He was tall and thin with straight blond hair which he wore in a style that hung down over one eye and split like a swallow's tail behind his neck. He had blue-grey eyes that unceasingly bore the weight of many pains, the greatest of all being the betrayal of his captain, Gin Ichimaru, for whom Kira had fostered a respect that had bordered on love.

Kira was a sensitive and no-nonsense man. He took his job very seriously, and he would tolerate no foolishness – except his own when he'd had a few too many to drink. He found little humor in events, and very often, his stern countenance made others shy away from him. He hadn't always been that way. When he thought back on the early days when he had entered Soul Reaper Academy, he recalled with nostalgic fondness what a care-free, joyful man he'd been. He had come from a well-to-do family and had only the best during his upbringing. Perhaps that had been his problem. He'd been sheltered and protected, his gentle feelings never subjected to anything more than a loving scold.

All that had changed once he entered the academy. But even then, he'd made some amazing friends who had stood by him every step of the way, and it had not been an easy journey, for while he had been book-smart, he'd not had the sort of combative instinct that made him a good fighter. Developing that instinct had moved to the top of his list only a couple weeks into the curriculum, and having Renji Abarai as a classmate and sparring partner ushered him along quickly in the skill set. Upon graduation, being assigned to Squad Five with Renji and Momo, classmates both, had been a dream come true; and later serving in Squad Three under Captain Ichimaru was, in Kira's mind, the culmination of all he had been striving for.

And then, Gin had turned against Soul Society, had taken up with Aizen and become a traitor to everything Kira had held dear. But it wasn't the betrayal of some lofty ideal that had hurt Kira. It was the fact that his captain had abandoned _him. _Gin had known what he meant to his vice captain, and he'd left him anyway.

Kira had never recovered.

"Where's the head captain?" he wondered aloud. If Lieutenant Sasakibe had come here alone and injured, what would that mean for the captain commander?

"The head captain isn't coming."

All heads turned towards the sound of an unfamiliar voice.

The fog began to clear, revealing a man they had never seen before. A man with ashen skin and dark shadows around his eyes, wearing a long coat with a high fur collar.

Yumichika felt a strange sense of misgiving. He could detect no reiatsu at all from the man.

Captain Hitsugaya, never one to mince words, glared menacingly at the newcomer. "Who the hell are you?"

The man did not answer.

At that point, Captain Komamura, long known for his single-minded dedication to Captain Yamamoto, stepped forward. "What did you do to Sir Genyrusai?"

Again, the stranger did not answer, and then all hell broke loose. Captain Komamura released his zanpakuto, Tenken, a heavily armored Samurai warrior, nearly ten stories tall, whose movements followed those of his master.

The stranger was completely unimpressed.

Ikkaku smiled with anticipation. "What an interesting guy this is."

Yumichika recognized the tone of voice. Ikkaku was ready for action.

"You want to go for it, Ikkaku?" he asked.

But before either of them could act, Iba stepped in front of them and held out his arm. "Stay out of it! My captain is fighting! You'll only be in the way."

Ikkaku was perturbed, but he respected Iba and Komamura too much to interfere – yet, at any rate.

But then something odd happened. As Komamura brought down his sword arm to deliver a blow, Tenken's target was not the stranger, but Komamura himself.

The impact of the blow sent waves of dirt and dust and reiatsu flying out in all directions. For many seconds, it was impossible to see what had happened to the Squad Seven captain.

Yumichika stared wide-eyed, horrified. He could hardly believe what he had just seen.

"What just happened?" Captain Hitsugaya gasped.

Soifon was equally incredulous. "A zanpakuto attacked its master?"

"Impossible," Captain Kyoraku breathed. He'd never heard of such a thing before.

Yumichika sidled up close to Ikkaku. "Something very bad is happening—"

A sudden flash of light blinded them all for a moment, and when it had cleared, Tenken was gone, and the assembled Soul Reapers found themselves looking at yet another being they had never seen before.

It was a man, about ten feet tall, red-skinned with upswept purplish hair. His eyes glowed yellow and red tongues of fire curled and hissed from the corners of his mouth. He was broad and muscular, and the first thought that came to Yumichika's mind when looking at him was Mendalo – the body of a swordsmith. He was bare-chested but a yellow sash draped from his left shoulder across his chest and disappeared behind his back at waist level. He wore a long grey skirt, overlayed with yellow and red leather aprons, and he carried a weapon in his hand that consisted of a rope with two metal circles at either end.

Captain Komamura regarded this newcomer for several seconds. At last, he asked, "Tenken?"

The only response was a renewed attack that left Captain Komamura on the ground, gravely injured.

What followed was pure and utter chaos. Shinigami after Shinigami tried to release their zanpakuto shikai forms. Not a single zanpakuto responded.

"What's going on?!" Hitsugaya demanded as the others reacted with disbelief at their zanpakutos' disobedience.

Only Mayuri seemed unfazed, more fascinated than worried. "Ho-ho, the spiritual pressure is definitely gone," he noted, examining his own Ashisogi Jizo, perhaps the most bizarre in appearance when it came to zanpakuto. It was three-pronged, much like a tuning harp, gold-colored and with a hilt that almost had the appearance of a child's face. "What's the meaning of this?"

The ash-faced man replied in a monotone. "It's simple. You are no longer one with your zanpakuto. I've freed them from their Soul Reapers."

As he spoke, a single tear of blood broke from his eye. He wiped it away and then held out his hand.

"What's he doing?" Yumichika whispered.

He got his answer in the next instant as a series of explosions tore through the Gotei 13 areas below.

"What are you doing!?" Renji demanded, stepping forward, ready to do battle.

"It wasn't me," the man replied. "Your zanpakuto are the ones on a rampage. They are no longer under your spell."

For several seconds, no one moved. No one knew what to do. This man could not possibly be telling the truth. Zanpakuto had no independent existence. And even if they did, what call would they have for wreaking such havoc?

"But this is just an introduction, so you would understand the power of my comrades," the man went on. "And this is the true appearance of the zanpakuto that you deluded yourselves into thinking you owned."

Above and behind him appeared a dozen figures, materializing from thin air.

Yumichika thought his heart might stop.

Among those figures was one striking a demur pose, face partially hidden behind raised arms and trailing feathers, but that hardly mattered. His identity was undeniable.

"_Ruri'iro Kujaku . . . "_

How long it had been since Yumichika had seen Ruri'iro Kujaku's spirit form? And amazingly, he was visible in perfect clarity, beautiful beyond comprehension, yet seemingly disinterested in the goings-on. His reiatsu was not even detectable, which told Yumichika he must be expending a great deal of power to keep it under control.

The peacock did not look at him – or at anyone else.

Yumichika could sense nothing from him.

"_Ruri'iro Kujaku!" _he called out in his mind, but he received no response. _"Ruri'iro Kujaku, answer me!"_

There was no movement, no glance of eye, nothing to indicate that Ruri'iro Kujaku had even heard him.

This was not a good situation. Forget about the other zanpakuto. Forget about this strange man and his claims. Ruri'iro Kujaku manifesting on his own, in plain sight of so many Soul Reapers, in plain sight of Ikkaku . . .

One hundred and twenty-five years of secrecy was on the verge of going up in smoke. Yumichika could not let that happen. He _would_ not let it happen.

Several more spirits emerged from behind the gathered Shinigami and joined their brethren as they floated to the ground.

"The zanpakuto manifested themselves?" Toshiro breathed in disbelief.

It was at this point that Byakuya Kuchiki came forward, every bit as commanding as he had always been. "Who are you?"

"My name is Muramasa. Tonight marks the end of the Souls Reapers' reign over the zanpakuto. From here on, the zanpakuto will rule over the Soul Reapers." He held out his hand and a sword materialized. He drove the point into the ground, which heaved and cracked under him, rising and shifting into a series of small plateaus – platforms, as it were, to showcase his comrades.

Ikkaku attacked first, launching himself at Muramasa, only to be intercepted by Hyorinmaru.

The fight was on.

Yumichika could not risk an engagement with Ruri'iro Kujaku in front of everyone. If the peacock released his true shikai, that would be the end. Of course, there was no guarantee that he would not release it against the other Shinigami, regardless of whether Yumichika were present or not. But if Yumichika could lure him away from here, he might still be able to maintain his secret – if he lived. And if he could not maintain his secret, then death would be preferable to defeat and humiliation before Ikkaku.

Certain that Ruri'iro Kujaku could only have business with one person – himself – he began running from the scene of battle. He did not use flashstep, for he wanted to make sure Ruri'iro saw him leaving and followed him.

But as he came to the middle of the suspension bridge joining Sokyoku Hill and The Prisoner's Tower, he looked back over his shoulder. Not only was Ruri'iro Kujaku not following him, but he was nowhere to be seen among the combatants. Yumichika stopped and surveyed the area once more.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was definitely not there.

Yumichika heard the call for retreat go up, and he watched as the captains and vice-captains abandoned the fight, the zanpakuto setting off in pursuit. Suddenly, he was the only one left, and he was standing in the middle of a bridge . . .

The instant he realized his vulnerability was the instant the bridge was torn in half. The attack was so fast, he hadn't even seen it coming. Something or someone had rammed up through the bridge from below, only feet from where Yumichika had been standing. The impact sent him flying up into the air, surrounded by the splintered remains of wooden planks and the frayed remnants of the thick suspension ropes. He skidded to a stop in the open air and looked around for his attacker as he assessed his injuries. He had a couple scratches on one hand, and his uniform was torn in the sleeve, but there was no serious damage.

He wasn't sure what made him look up. Maybe a slight displacement in the air. Maybe a particle of reiatsu. Whatever it was, he raised his head just in time to see a dark mass against the blue night sky barreling down him. He raised his sword with both hands to parry and found himself plummeting towards the ground where he landed beside one of the pylons of the now destroyed bridge. He got quickly to his feet as his assailant touched down heavily twenty feet in front of him.

Yumichika's vision wasn't clear in the darkness, but still he could make out enough features to be awestruck. The creature facing him was huge, at least twelve feet tall, broad and muscular, with features that were both animal and human. A billowing mane of thick hair – or perhaps fur – gave his head an odd-shaped halo in the dark light.

"Ohhhh, I've wanted to do that for such a long time now," the creature grinned, his teeth shining white. "But you know, there's also a part of me that feels bad about it." A chuckle. "But not that bad."

Yumichika could sense nothing of his reiatsu. It seemed all the zanpakuto were hiding their spiritual pressure. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Aaeeehhh, I'm offended! How can you not know who I am after all these years?"

Yumichika's eyes widened. "Hoozukimaru?"

"You got it, Little Pretty," the dragon replied. "I can't believe you don't remember me from when my master learned bankai. You were there." He paused. "Of course, I know you remember very little of that entire event. You were in a daze most of the time. It was your own fault anyways. Who goes rushing into a situation like that without the necessary . . . weapons." With the last word, he clasped his hands behind his head and flexed his muscles. "You're actually pretty lucky to even be alive."

Yumichika could only stare. This had to be Hoozukimaru, for who else would know such details?

"What's the matter?" the dragon taunted. "Am I not what you expected?"

"Where's Fuji Kujaku?" Yumichika demanded once he finally found his voice.

"Don't you mean _Ruri'iro_ Kujaku?" Hoozukimaru sneered.

"Where is he?" Yumichika repeated.

But Hoozukimaru was not about to comply. "You know, I could kill you just for all the hurt you've caused him by using that name all these years. I could kill you for keeping him hidden and being afraid to tell my master the truth. Shit, I could have told my master the truth about you a long time ago. I could have told him you had a kido zanpakuto." He took a daunting step forward. "But I didn't. You know why? Because Flashy didn't want me to tell him. That—" He shook his head and looked down, almost as if in pain. "That stupid, sentimental featherhead never stopped having hope. No matter how much he hated you—and believe me, he does hate you—he wanted you to come back to him."

"I don't care about any of that," Yumichika shot back impatiently. "Just tell me where he is."

"How should I know? He's not my slave like he was yours," came the cold retort.

"Why did you come after me? Why didn't he come instead?"

"Ha! You're just a stop on my way," Hoozukimaru said with a wicked grin. "I've got bigger game than you to hunt." A pause. "And as much as I'd like to take you down, I won't deprive Flashy of the honor."

With that, he was gone.

And Yumichika did not pursue. Instead, he needed to find Ikkaku and warn him that Hoozukimaru was on the warpath and looking for him.

Ruri'iro Kujaku could wait.

* * *

"_How unpleasant._

_How banal._

_How . . . ugly."_

As soon as the fighting had begun, Ruri'iro Kujaku had slipped quietly away. He had not gone after his master. He had not gone after anyone.

The truth of the matter was that it had been so many years, over a hundred, since he'd been permitted to manifest in the outside world, that he had been overcome with fascination and excitement the moment Muramasa had called him and all the others to materialize before the Shinigami. The darkening twilight, the faint appearance of the first stars of night, the smell of the air, the way the pale western horizon had seemed to stretch on forever as viewed from Sokyoku Hill . . . how could he think of death and destruction when faced with such beauty?

He had known his master was present, but he'd made it a point not to make eye contact with him. He'd not wanted to provoke him. He did not want to see him or talk to him. He did not want to fight him. Not at the moment, anyways. That time would come. Muramasa had made it clear that it was necessary in order for a zanpakuto to be truly free. But there was no need for it at the moment.

His master could wait.

He did not bother with flashstep, for he did not want to miss anything. But now, he was beginning to think he should use flashstep to take him as far from the Gotei 13 as possible.

Smoke and flames were rising now, the result of zanpakuto running wild. There were screams and cries for help. Every now and then, the cackle or wicked laughter of one of the zanpakuto could be heard above the din. Buildings lay in ruins, the streets were littered with debris. The destruction was indiscriminate. It was quickly becoming a war zone.

It was not beautiful.

Ruri'iro Kujaku leapt into the air and skimmed over the rooftops, beyond the outer ring of the Gotei 13 area, and into the surrounding neighborhoods of the Seireitei. He did not have to go far before coming to a heavily wooded area with a tree-topped knoll rising oddly in its center. Here, he alit in the uppermost branches of the trees and watched the catastrophe from a clean distance. Without the sound effects, the fires were pretty. Without the concussions, the explosions were brilliant displays of bursting color.

Here he stayed for several hours, undisturbed, feeling at ease in his surroundings. He wondered where Hoozukimaru was. Who was Yumichika fighting? How long would he be able to stay out in this isolated place before Muramasa came for him?

Shortly before sunrise, he felt a wave of cold accompanied by a reiatsu he knew well enough. Glancing down at the base of the knoll, he saw Hyorinmaru walking through the woods, leaving a trail of frost in his wake.

Ruri'iro Kujaku watched him in silence for several seconds, then as if he had sensed the peacock's presence, the ice dragon turned his head and looked up towards the treetops.

"Who's up there?" Hyorinmaru asked.

Ruri'iro Kujaku came down from the tree. "It's just me."

"I recognize you. You were in the cave," Hyorinmaru stated.

"Yes."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Ruri'iro Kujaku."

Hyorinmaru looked thoughtful. "Ruri'iro Kujaku . . . I don't know that name."

The peacock frowned. "No, I guess you wouldn't. My master doesn't call me by that name. And even if he did, your master never hangs out with mine, so you would have had little chance to know me."

Hyorinmaru did not say anything, but directed his gaze towards the ground and looked troubled.

It was perplexing to Ruri'iro Kujaku, for he knew that he was looking at one of the most powerful zanpakutos in the Gotei 13. Why the ice dragon should appear so beleaguered was a mystery.

"Why are you way out here?" Ruri'iro asked.

Hyorinmaru raised his eyes slowly and regarded the kujaku with a child-like simplicity. "Because all they were doing back there was fighting and destroying. That's not why I answered Muramasa's call."

His words piqued Ruri'iro Kujaku's attention. "Why did you answer his call?"

After several seconds, Hyorinmaru replied, "I'm not sure, but I know it wasn't for that."

"Don't you want to be free of your master?" Ruri'iro posed.

The ice dragon looked up with reluctant hope. "Do you know who my master is?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was too surprised to answer right away. How could it be that Hyorinmaru did not know who his master was? Had something happened in the manifestation of his spirit that had erased or blocked out the bond he and Hitsugaya shared? And if that were the case, was it incumbent or even proper for Ruri'iro Kujaku to fill in the blanks?

"You don't remember your master?" Ruri'iro asked carefully.

"I don't remember my master. I don't remember my name," came the even reply.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was now even more shocked, but this last revelation decided him on what he should do. He would not tell Hyorinmaru who his master was. He would not tell him his name. It seemed clear to the azure peacock that whatever short circuit had taken place in the formation of this incarnation of Hyorinmaru's spirit, it was something best left between zanpakuto and master. From everything he had ever known of Hyorinmaru and Hitsugaya, the two had shared an almost idyllic relationship. Whether that was to be sundered or recovered must be left to the two parties involved.

"I'm sure when you find him, it will all come back to you," he said, then adding with a sad smile, "And even if you don't find him, I'm sure he's looking for you."

"If he's back in all the destruction, I don't want him to find me."

Ruri'iro Kujaku tilted his head and noted, "That's an interesting thing for you to say. You're a pretty destructive power yourself, you know?"

"I suppose I am." Hyorinmaru paused. "Why are you out here? Have you lost your master, as well?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku did not know whether to laugh or cry, to play down the question or use it to fuel his anger. He simply answered, "A long time ago."

Hyorinmaru stared back at him with a confused look on his face, to which the peacock simply replied, "I came out here because I don't like anything ugly. And what's going on back there is ugly."

Hyorinmaru nodded, then in his plain, direct manner, stated, "I have to go keep searching for my master."

"Good luck."

Ruri'iro Kujaku watched him as he walked off into the darkness of woods, and he could not help but feel a stab of envy. Hyorinmaru wanted to be with his master, and Ruri'iro Kujaku was sure that Hitsugaya wanted to be with Hyorinmaru. Theirs was a simple devotion. The dragon was the plain-minded brawn that felt drawn to protect a child-master. Toshiro was the prodigious child in need of temperance and unconditional love.

They were an ideal match.

The peacock thought of his own master. He recalled the moment his master had desired him enough to bring about his manifestation. The joy and excitement of seeing his own body come into creation. And then gazing upon his master for the first time and deciding at that moment that there before was his sole reason to exist. Waves of anger and hurt and doubt had swamped that belief many times over the ensuing years. The bark that had held him and his master just above drowning waters was seeing its final days. This venture with Muramasa would see the vessel breaking apart upon the rocks.

As it should.

Yes, it would finally mark the end of a century and more of slavery and servitude. At last, he would be free! No longer dependent on his master's whims and moods. No longer in need of his approval. Unfettered by Yumichika's insecurities and foibles. All these years, he had held back his power in reluctant deference to his master's wants and desires. It was all about to end. A great moment was upon him.

But why did he feel so sad?


	21. Chapter 21

_**Dear Reader, This is obviously a very long chapter! In trying to go through the zanpakuto rebellion, I had to do a LOT of condensing, so please understand that there will be some pretty jumpy parts to this story. For example, not all the fights are depicted, so if suddenly, a line pops up, "Abarai defeated Zabimaru", please don't be too disappointed that I skipped the actual re-telling of that fight. It would have made this chapter 1,000 pages long! I also took some liberties with the dialogue, because some of it just made no sense from the anime, considering these Shinigami and their zanpakuto have known each other for years. And if it seems that I'm hard on Byakuya, Rukia and Senbonzakura, just remember: I'm trying to depict how I think Ruri'iro Kujaku and Hoozukimaru would view them! Enjoy! TK**_

* * *

Chapter 21 Aesthetics

"_Tell me someone why there's only confusion.  
__Tell me someone that this is all an illusion.  
__Tell me someone why this talk of revolution.  
__Tell me someone when we're changing evolution."_

_One More Time to Live  
_John Lodge

Ikkaku did not often worry about Yumichika. He knew the fifth seat was more than capable of taking care of himself. There were even times when he had to concede, albeit grudgingly, that Yumichika might be more capable than he was. Decades of watching Yumichika handle himself against any number of lethal enemies had perhaps made Ikkaku more jaded than he desired, but in all that time, he'd seen nothing to make him doubt Yumichika's prowess.

This time, however, was different.

The idea of Fuji Kujaku running wild was a frightening prospect. Ikkaku knew of the enmity between Yumichika and his zanpakuto, and he did not think it beyond reason that the kujaku might seek revenge against a master for whom he apparently had little love. Even more, he remembered the many times he had come upon the aftermath of Yumichika's battles. Just like that day at the quarry when Yumichika had been attacked by gypsies, Ikkaku had shown up to find the ground littered with dead bodies but with little sign of trauma. At the quarry, Yumichika had originally claimed that it had been the work of his own reiatsu, strong enough to crush his enemies. He had later admitted that it had been Fuji Kujaku's doing.

Now that power, and the hatred behind it, was loose and free to wreak havoc and claim vengeance.

Initially, when the fighting had begun on Sokyoku Hill, Ikkaku had not been worried one bit about Yumichika. The thrill of combat, the prospect of giving Hoozukimaru the thrashing he so deserved for his disobedience, the sheer novelty of seeing the zanpakuto spirits – these had all grabbed Ikkaku's attention, and he'd lost himself in the fray without a single thought for Yumichika.

But then, shortly after it had begun, the battle had turned bad. The idea that the zanpakuto might be quickly subjugated was shown to be a miscalculation of the highest order. It was understandable that the Shinigami might consider their weapons as inferior to themselves, given that they were the creators and the zanpakuto were the created. A sense of indignation had fired the Shinigami officers gathered on Sokyoku Hill, self-righteous incredulity at theperfidy of the zanpakuto in their attempt to assert their individual existences. The Shinigami had felt assured of victory, for the zanpakuto were extensions of themselves; and as extensions, they could not be greater than that from which they originated.

Now, the Shinigami recognized the pretentiousness of their assumptions. The zanpakuto were dangerous adversaries; and with them seemingly freed from any sense of duty to their masters, they posed a genuine threat to the Gotei 13.

When Captain Ukitake had sounded the retreat, Ikkaku's sense of excitement had begun to wear off. Eventually, he received word to report to Squad Four's barracks, which were functioning as a temporary headquarters. Here, he had expected to find Yumichika, but such was not the case.

He inquired, but no one had seen him; and when he reached out with his own limited abilities, he could not find Yumichika's reiatsu. By the time the sun had risen an hour over the horizon, he was prepared to set off in search of him. No sooner had he stepped out through the main gate of the Squad Four area than he saw Yumichika approaching across the broad lawn that fronted the divisional wall.

He allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief before putting his gruff exterior back in place. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked, trying to sound more like a ranking officer taking a report than a worried friend.

"Trying to find you," Yumichika replied. "I was following your reiatsu, but you were all over the place. And it's not exactly easy-going out there. I kept running into zanpakuto, so it took me a while to reach you."

"Did you fight any of them?" Ikkaku asked.

"Not really," Yumichika replied. "I did what I had to do to get past them. I was more interested in finding you than fighting them."

Ikkaku was tempted to chastise him for worrying too much, but he refrained. "When the retreat was called, everyone scattered. Finally, a hell butterfly found me and told me that the leadership was gathering here."

"Where were you going just now?" Yumichika asked.

"To look for you," Ikkaku replied.

"Well, here I am," Yumichika stated. "Have they come up with any plans?"

"I don't think so, not yet," Ikkaku said. "If they have, they haven't announced them."

They both turned back into the Squad Four area. Just inside the gate was a massive garden, the largest of any squad, partly ornamental, partly medicinal. On the right were the sprawling buildings of a hospital complex; on the left were the barracks, behind which were the training facilities; and straight ahead were the administrative offices. In the middle of the line of offices was a short tunnel that led back into the squad commander's offices, a dozen conference rooms, and a private meditation garden.

Ikkaku headed straight across the garden towards the private offices.

Beside him, Yumichika spoke. "I ran into Hoozukimaru."

Ikkaku stopped walking and turned to face him, a startled yet pleased look in his eyes. "You ran into him! I spent the whole time trying to find him before I got called here. Where did you find him?"

"He found me," Yumichika replied. "It was right at the start of the fight. I was running across the bridge towards the Prisoner's Tower, and the next thing I knew, the bridge was in pieces and I was spinning through the air. It was Hoozukimaru."

"How do you know it was him?" Ikkaku asked.

"He told me," Yumichika replied.

"Did you fight him?" Ikkaku could hardly contain his excitement.

Yumichika shook his head. "No, he didn't want to fight me. He's only interested in fighting you."

Ikkaku smiled wickedly. "Fine by me. I can't wait to kick his ass."

"He, uh . . . he seems very strong," Yumichika said.

"Of course, he is! I know that!" Ikkaku blurted out. "He's my zanpakuto, after all. I know everything about him."

"I just thought I should warn you," Yumichika clarified. "He's set on finding you and kicking _your_ ass. I wouldn't underestimate him." Then he took a deep breath and gathered his courage . "You, uh, you didn't see Fuji Kujaku, did you?"

"I don't even know what he looks like," Ikkaku replied. "But if I did see him, he didn't say who he was."

Yumichika nodded. He felt fairly certain that Ikkaku had not seen Ruri'iro Kujaku, for there could be no doubt that the peacock would have immediately made his identity known to the man whom he deemed to be at the crux of all that had gone wrong over the past hundred-and-twenty-five years.

"You're worried about him," Ikkaku half-stated, half-questioned.

"He, uh . . . well, you know he's . . . he's very good at throwing tantrums, and I don't want anyone to get hurt because of him," Yumichika hemmed and hawed through his explanation.

Ikkaku could sense Yumichika's unease in talking about his zanpakuto. "Yeah . . . well, we'd better go inside and see what they want us to do."

Yumichika nodded, but the truth was that no matter what assignment he was given, finding Ruri'iro Kujkau and subduing him was his number one priority.

* * *

"It's about time you showed up," Hoozukimaru rumbled as Ruri'iro Kujaku approached him in the Great Hall atop the Senzaikyu. "I thought maybe you'd already found Little Pretty and had taken him off somewhere far away to torture him slowly over the next few days."

"No, I didn't find him," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied. "I wasn't even looking for him. I was just . . . enjoying my freedom."

"Well, I saw him," the dragon announced.

"Really? Did you defeat him?" Ruri'iro asked with a gleam in his eye.

"I didn't fight him," Hoozukimaru replied. "I figured I'd leave that to you."

"I don't care if I find him or not. I don't care if he's defeated or not. As long as I can be free of him, that's enough for me," the peacock shrugged carelessly.

"You're such a flake," Hoozukimaru chastised with a grin. "I can tell you, the second I find my master, it's on."

"I'd like to be on hand to see that," Ruri'iro chirped.

They began walking down a long hallway with a high vaulted ceiling and polished marble tiles that gave off a purplish luster in their glowing whiteness.

"I don't think my master has ever been in this place," Ruri'iro noted. "It doesn't look familiar."

"Mine's been here a couple times," Hoozukimaru said in response. "There's a balcony at the end that looks out over the city as far as the eye can see." A grin. "A bird's eye view of the destruction."

As they drew closer to the far end, they saw through the open door, a lone figure standing at the balustrade, looking out over the city.

Ruri'iro Kujaku stopped. "Ohhhh, why does he have to be here?" he groaned.

"I guess he had the same idea we did," Hoozukimaru replied. "Besides, word has it he already defeated his master, so I guess he has nothing else to do."

Still, that wasn't enough to pacify Ruri'iro Kujaku. "We can come back later. There are other ways to get a good view."

"Flashy, I know you and your master hate his master, but he may turn out to be . . . well, maybe he's not so bad," Hoozukimaru ventured, but his tone made it clear that even he did not hold out much hope for the truth of his words.

"I know you can't be serious," the peacock fussed. "Byakuya Kuchiki is the single biggest egomaniac in all of Soul Society—"

"You sure about that?" Hoozukimaru poked with good humor. "I can think of some competition in that area."

"Don't be smart," Ruri'iro snipped, glancing sideways at him. "My point is that Senbonzakura is every bit as conceited and prideful as his master. I've sensed that since day one."

"Well, he's on our side now, so try to be civil," Hoozukimaru warned. "Now, come on. You'll be fine. Don't let him get to you."

Easier said than done, but Ruri'iro accompanied the dragon the last few steps and out onto balcony.

If Senbonzakura detected their presence, and surely he must, for they were not hiding their reiatsu, he made no move to acknowledge their arrival.

Senbonzakura was Byakuya Kuchiki's zanpakuto – one of the most powerful zanpakuto in the Gotei 13, and Captain Kuchiki was not averse to his use. As such, Senbonzakura had seen a lot of action and, like his master, considered himself to be of a quality and stature far removed from the rank-and-file. Kuchiki was, after all, the head of one of the four noble families, and Senbonzakura was his weapon; that conferred upon the latter the same honors and deference due his master.

At least, that's how Senbonzakura viewed the matter.

Not everyone agreed with him.

Hoozukimaru was one who placed no value on position, nobility, stature or honor. He respected Senbonzakura's power, but he was neither intimidated nor impressed by him. Yes, he had heard that Senbonzakura had already encountered and pursued Byakuya Kuchiki to his destruction – a formidable task, indeed; but given the fog of battle and the confusion of those early hours of combat, Hoozukimaru was not fully convinced that rumors of the Squad Six captain's demise were true. Almost immediately after the battle had begun, it was reported that Captain Kuchiki had come to the aid of his sister Rukia and his lieutenant, Renji Abarai, only to be confronted by Senbonzakura. Although Captain Kuchiki had attacked aggressively, the fight had been short-lived. Senbonzakura had only to release his thousand blades, which pursued Byakuya from rooftop to rooftop, eventually enveloping and supposedly destroyed him, for he had not been seen since.

But to Hoozukimaru, it sounded like too easy a defeat. Captain Kuchiki, whatever his failings might be, could not be called an easy adversary. He was one of the Gotei 13's ablest warriors and not likely to fall so quickly to his own zanpakuto.

No, Hoozukimaru wasn't buying it. And he had a sense that Senbonzakura wasn't buying it, either. "What are you looking at?" he asked bluntly.

When no response was forthcoming, Ruri'iro Kujaku followed up in as pleasant a manner as he could manage, "Do you see something interesting?"

"That's none of your business," Senbonzakura replied in a deep, haughty voice without even deigning to face them.

"_Oh, that's done it,"_ Hoozukimaru grimaced inwardly, knowing that even a small snub like that would set Ruri'iro Kujaku off.

"What's with that attitude?" Ruri'iro demanded, taking a step forward.

Hoozukimaru could hear it in his voice: Ruri'iro Kujaku was insulted.

"Are you ignoring us?" the peacock further pressed when Senbonzakura did not answer.

"Forget about it," Hoozukimaru stated, knowing that any confrontation between these two would bring all sorts of unwanted attention and probably end badly – for Senbonzakura. For in Hoozukimaru's mind, the only thing that stood between victory and defeat for Ruri'iro Kujaku was the use of his true shikai; and now that he was free of his master's constraints, he could use it at will. Hoozukimaru was not sure how any adversary could defend against that power. Every shard of Senbonzakura's petals, being comprised of spirit particles, could be absorbed by Ruri'iro Kujaku's vines. Any injury the peacock sustained would be healed instantaneously. And on top of that, if Ruri'iro Kujaku were to release his seductive reiatsu, he could win a battle without having to engage in a single fight. It seemed almost unfair.

"But he's so arrogant! There's no need to be rude!" Ruri'iro spat out.

It was not lost on Hoozukimaru that his companion was accusing Senbonzakura of the very same things he himself had shown to the other zanpakuto, whom he had deemed beneath him. And perhaps that was what was at the heart of the matter here. Perhaps Ruri'iro Kujaku viewed Senbonzakura as an equal, while the latter viewed the former as an inferior. Senbonzakura, like the other zanpakuto, probably did not even know who Ruri'iro Kujaku was. The kujaku's delicate pride could not tolerate being treated with such disdain.

"Save your anger for the ones out there," Hoozukimaru went on, nodding towards the city stretching away before them and trying to avoid a flare-up. "Save it for Little Pretty."

At the sound of those words, Senbonzakura turned to face them. His ensemble was truly daunting. He was dressed in the full body armor of a Samurai warrior, purple and maroon, giving him a bulky, awkward appearance. He wore a fearful mask of an almost demonic visage with blackened eyes and a snarling mouth. His hair was black and tied back, leaving only two plaits to hang down each side of his face. His hands were covered in black leather. No part of his skin was visible.

"Whose zanpakuto are you?" he asked, directing the question at Ruri'iro Kujaku.

"Oh, now you want to chat?" Ruri'iro simpered, reaching behind him and pretending to primp the long blue braid.

"Tell me whose zanpakuto you are," Senbonzakura repeated. "I know you are Madarame's. But I don't recognize your reiatsu."

It was Hoozukimaru who replied, tongue-in-cheek, "If I'm Madarame's, whose do you think he would be? It's not hard to figure this one out."

"Fifth Seat Ayasegawa." A pause. "I might have guessed." He turned away again to face out over the Seireitei.

"What does that mean?" Ruri'iro asked, his voice rising.

"Who else would bring forth a zanpakuto who is so . . . campy?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was in motion, but Hoozukimaru was quicker. He reached out and snagged the braid, giving a gentle tug that brought the peacock back to him. "Let it go," he urged in a whisper. "He's not worth it." He guided Ruri'iro towards the far end of the balcony. "Your enemy is out there."

Ruri'iro was still steaming, but Hoozukimaru knew better than to let him stew. A little diversion would turn his flakey companion's attention easily enough to other things.

"Just think . . . soon, you'll defeat him and then you'll truly be free," the dragon said enticingly.

Ruri'iro nodded his agreement, but it seemed forced, not genuine. "Yes . . . yes, I can't wait to find him and . . . "

"You're not wavering, are you?" Hoozukimaru asked.

"Of course not—"

At that moment, Muramasa appeared. "My friends, what are you doing gathered here?" he asked. "There are Shinigami to be dealt with."

"Muramasa-dono," Senbonzakura acknowledged. "I was trying to reach out and sense if my master was indeed defeated or if he has just gone into hiding. These two joined me and interrupted my search. But I am ready to do your bidding. What do you require of me?"

Muramasa smiled. This one was so easy. That rigid Kuchiki adherence to authority had been useful.

"I give you leave to go search out your master . . . in the event he is still alive."

Senbonzakura gave a single curt nod and was gone.

Then Muramasa turned to Hoozukimaru. "I want you to also go find your master and destroy him. He may have been able to hide his true power from others, but I know how strong he really is, and I know he has bankai. Very few of the other zanpakuto will be able to defeat him. You must go."

Hoozukimaru grinned anxiously. "Let's go, Flashy. Where my master is, yours is probably there, too."

"No."

They both turned at the sound of Muramasa's voice. "Ruri'iro Kujaku, you will come back to the cavern with me."

Immediately, Ruri'iro protested. He had only just had his freedom in the outside world for less than 24 hours. He was not about to go back into the dark, dank confines of the cavern. "Why do you want me to go back there?"

"We will discuss it once we're there," Muramasa replied.

"But I—"

Muramasa held up his hand and closed his fingers one-by-one.

Hoozukimaru spoke up. "You need to do as Muramasa tells you."

"_That's it." _The thought rose unbidden in Ruri'iro Kujaku's mind. _"He does that thing with his hand, and that controls the zanpakuto. But he has to keep doing it, which means it must wear off ."_

Only, it wasn't working on him. To Ruri'iro Kujaku, it was just a bizarre gesture that had no effect. Why? Could it be that his kido nature made him immune to such mind controls? Or was there something in his reiatsu that repelled such attempts at manipulation? Perhaps the same quality that gave him healing powers also protected him against attacks on his psyche.

He didn't know. He only knew that he was able to withstand a tactic that was reducing the other zanpakuto to murderous thugs.

The question was: did Muramasa know he was immune?

* * *

Yumichika was torn between frustration and fear as he touched down on the corrugated roof of one of the many old fish-packing plants that lined the shore of the great Hirtmyui Sea that lay due east of the Seireitei. Several of the plants were still in business. Others had shuttered their doors and now lay in collapsing ruins. They were monuments to a once great industry, but over the years, the souls arriving in Soul Society had come with less and less spirit energy; thus, the need for sustenance as a whole had fallen off. Fish was still a staple but much less in demand than even twenty years ago. The diminishing spirit energy of the souls both in Soul Society and in the living world was a mystery that the brightest minds in Soul Society had been trying to crack for the better part of fifty years.

The sun was setting on the first day of the rebellion, and Yumichika was coming to the end of a day that had been passed almost entirely in the search for Ruri'iro Kujaku. When he and Ikkaku had parted ways that morning, he'd been apprehensive. Now, he was close to panic. While he'd felt Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu, he'd been unable to pinpoint it. With zanpakuto spirits running amok, the air was full of mixed spirit energies that made the isolation of any one in particular difficult. On the one hand, it was good that Yumichika had only felt the low-level existence reiatsu of his zanpakuto, because it meant Ruri'iro had not used his powers – that Yumichika would surely have felt. On the other hand, it made the peacock almost impossible to track.

Yumichika doubted very much that his zanpakuto had come this far out, but he'd decided to take a look anyway, given that he'd not found him anywhere closer. He went from warehouse to warehouse, from dock to dock. There was no sign of the peacock.

For a moment, he contemplated going to his inner world to see if he could contact Ruri'iro Kujaku, but something held him back. During the meeting at the make-shift headquarters in Squad Four, all the other Shinigami present had related that they had already tried to do just that: seek out their zanpakuto in their inner worlds. None had been successful. Therefore, to Yumichika, it seemed like a waste of time. But even more so, going to his inner world would seem like . . . a defeat, a caving-in. It would be as if Yumichika were begging Ruri'iro Kujaku to be compliant and obedient.

Yumichika was not going to beg Ruri'iro Kujaku for anything.

Tracking him down out here and defeating him was the only satisfactory option.

And he would have to do it without the use of his shikai. He could not even use his partial shikai. That, too, had been taken from him and accomplished, he imagined, with great glee. Ruri'iro Kujaku must have been thrilled that he no longer had to release at the sound of the much-despised false name. Yumichika knew his zanpakuto had many reasons to be angry with him, but to what extent he would take out his vengeance . . . that was yet to be answered.

One thing was for certain: Ruri'iro Kujaku could cause a great deal of damage if not brought under control.

And there was no one who could do that except Yumichika, and he would have to do it alone or risk revealing his secret.

He had to find Ruri'iro Kujaku before the chance for secrecy was lost altogether.

* * *

At last the others were returning.

For the past twelve hours or so, Ruri'iro Kujaku had been waiting in the cavern alone. Even Muramasa had gone off and left him many hours ago.

He'd contemplated leaving more than once, but then he would recall the conversation he and Muramasa had exchanged earlier that morning upon their return to the cave . . .

"_You're unaffected by my power."_

_They were the only two in the cavern, Muramasa having sent the others back out to wreak more havoc. Only Ruri'iro Kujaku had been withheld._

"_I wouldn't say that," Ruri'iro replied. "You were able to enter my inner world."_

"_But I can't see your greatest desire," Muramasa admitted. "With the others, it was easy. They broadcast their innermost wants. But you're a puzzle. Freedom wasn't enough for you. The opportunity to overthrow your master isn't enough. The chance to be seen by the world isn't enough. What is it that drives you?" A pause. "And how are you able to resist my control?"_

"_I'm not immune," Ruri'iro replied without missing a beat. It was a lie, and he could only hope that it was well enough delivered to fool Muramasa. "I'm like the others, compelled to do as you say. But you called me contrary earlier, and that's true. I don't give in easily. I don't like being made to do things that are ugly."_

_Muramasa regarded him through narrowed, skeptical eyes. "I'm not sure I believe you."_

"_Have I disobeyed you thus far?" Ruri'iro asked. "I've done everything you've commanded."_

"_Not exactly." Muramasa raised his hand and took the hair of one blue plaits between his fingers, rubbing the strands as if he were sifting sand. "You took no part in the devastation that the others wreaked upon the Seireitei. You were nowhere to be found."_

"_I was enjoying my first trip to the outside world in over a hundred years," Ruri'iro replied. _

_Muramasa continued playing with the hair in his hand. "Yes, that's an interesting talent you have, to manifest into this world at your own will." He paused. "Why didn't you overpower your master and come out during all those long, lonely years? You could have done it. You chose not to. Why is that?"_

_Ruri'iro Kujaku despised him. Despised him for knowing things that should have been hidden. Despised him for his insidious voice and his implying eyes. Despised him for his powers, his infiltration of the sanctuary of zanpakutos' inner worlds._

"_There must be a reason," Muramasa went on, his hand moving up to caress the cheek. "Of all the zanpakuto, you would have had the easiest time of killing your master after I set you free. But you went off . . . sight-seeing. You're full of rage and hatred and power . . . but you don't use it, not even when given the chance to proceed unhindered."_

_Ruri'iro Kujaku stared back at him, attempting to maintain a neutrality of appearance and emotion. He must not let the slightest crack show—_

"_Is it because . . . " Muramasa's eyes widened briefly. A hideous smile curled his mouth. "I see. I see it now. I can see your greatest desire. You don't want to defeat your master." He drew closer and spoke in a whisper. "You want him to love you."_

_Ruri'iro Kujaku jerked away, furious and frightened with himself for having given so much away. _

_Muramasa was placid. "So, that's it. You want his love. No matter what he does to you, you still want his love. Amazing." He nodded slowly, turning away and heading for the staircase. "Wanting to be loved . . . that's a dangerous thing. Unconditional devotion to your Shinigami is a fool's path." He began ascending the steps. "And I cannot allow such a desire to stand."_

"_What do you mean?" Ruri'iro Kujaku snapped._

"_There are times when you have to choose," Muramasa replied over his shoulder. "And the more important the matter, the more difficult the choice. You will see. You will see when I return." He stopped walking, but did not turn back when he spoke. "I suggest that you don't try to leave here while I'm gone, because I can always find you. And you don't want to incur my wrath."_

And so Rurii'iro Kujaku had decided to stay put – not solely because of Muramasa's warning, but because he could not come to terms with what the rogue zanpakuto had said about his motives. How dare he presume to say that Ruri'iro wanted the love of his master? He'd given up on that desire so long ago, he could no longer remember when it had ceased being important to him.

Besides that, he did not want to leave without Hoozukimaru; and at the moment, he was not sure he could overcome Muramasa's mind control and convince the dragon to go with him.

But now the other zanpakuto were returning, and Hoozukimaru was among them.

Immediately, Ruri'iro Kujaku approached him. He could sense that the dragon was exhilarated.

"What's been happening out there?" he asked.

"Have you been in here the whole time?"

The tone in Hoozukimaru's voice was almost scoffing, and it took Ruri'iro Kujaku by surprise. It hadn't been his first choice to be sequestered away during the fighting. Muramasa had insisted, and Hoozukimaru had encouraged him to do as Muramasa had said.

He turned away without replying, his feelings bruised. He was beginning to think leaving his inner world was the greatest mistake he could have made.

Then he felt Hoozukimaru's arms close around him from behind. "Why are you walking away?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku did not answer. He only sunk into the dragon's embrace, leaning back against him.

"Are you alright?" Hoozukimaru asked. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

And then Ruri'iro Kujaku realized that Hoozukimaru hadn't been scoffing or belittling at all. It had all been Ruri'iro's own perception, colored by his unhappiness.

"No, he didn't hurt me," he answered. "I just want all of this to be over, so we can go our own way."

When Hoozukimaru did not say anything, Ruri'iro went on. "Don't you feel the same way?"

After a considerable pause, Hoozukimaru replied, "I had fun out there today. Kicking up on Soul Reapers is a fun way to pass the day. I'm just pissed off because I didn't see my master."

Ruri'iro Kujaku withdrew from his arms and turned to face him. "Are you saying you want to stay here and keep doing this? Even after you defeat Madarame, you want to stay here and keep fighting whomever you can find?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

Ruri'iro felt as if the ground had crumbled beneath him. "So I—I left my world for nothing."

"No, you left it for freedom—" Hoozukimaru began, but Ruri'iro cut him off angrily.

"This isn't freedom! This is—just another kind of servitude, and you're being drawn right into it!" With that, he retreated into the shadows where Wabisuke stood in dread silence.

Hoozukimaru did not go after him. It seemed the peacock needed some time to cool off and come to his senses. Being left out of the fighting had probably bruised his ego. Ruri'iro Kujaku was such a prideful being and easily offended. Yes, best to let him simmer down for a bit.

He turned and walked over to where Kazeshini sat kicked back at the table.

"I hear Zabimaru lost to Abarai," he announced.

"Ha! Losing to his Soul Reaper!" Kazeshini sneered. "How pathetic!"

"Maybe," Hoozukimaru replied, "But one thing it proves . . . we can be defeated."

It was, indeed, true that they could be defeated, and it was true that Renji had bested Zabimaru. It hadn't been the prettiest of victories; but in the end, Abarai had resorted to his limited use of kido – almost killing himself as well as his zanpakuto in the process. The tactic had taken Zabimaru off-guard, after which Renji lulled the pair into thinking they had defeated him. By invoking his Higa Zekko method, he was finally able to defeat his zanpakuto and return its two elements back into one sword.

The other zanpakuto had not expected Zabirmaru to fall so soon in the battle.

"That's what happens when you send a woman and a kid up against even a third-rate Shinigami," Kazeshini boasted. "My Shinigami was much more powerful than Abarai, and I defeated him. Piece of cake. But then some other soul reaper interfered and my master was able to escape. But he was hurt badly enough, I'll tell you. He's out of action."

"Well, I still have to find mine," Hoozukimaru stated with anticipation. "And I can't wait. He won't be a piece of cake. I'm sure he'll put up a good battle."

"Are you saying your master is stronger than mine!" Kazeshini challenged, outraged.

"He is," came the confident response. "There's not a single lieutenant who's stronger. I'd even say he's stronger than some captains—"

A disturbance on the other side of the cave interrupted their burgeoning debate.

Haineko and Tobiume were going at it like two feral cats. It seemed the two were always arguing, and who knew about what? The sorts of things that women could find to feud over were myriad and most often trivial.

When the dust cleared, the unfortunate Hyorinmaru, who happened to be standing by watching in confusion—for how could two zanpakuto behave the way these two were—was drawn into the battle like a Maypole. He stood impassively as the two females skitted around him, each trying to gain his approval.

He was spared only by the arrival of Muramasa, whose mere presence quickly put an end to the squabbling.

Hoozukimaru eyed him curiously. "Muramasa, I heard you let a Soul Reaper get away. That's not like you."

Muramasa regarded him with cool eyes. "Ichigo Kurosaki."

While the zanpakuto had been out searching for their masters and creating chaos, Muramasa had made an amazing discovery of his own. After the initial battle and Captain Kuchiki's apparent defeat, Rukia Kuchiki had escaped to the world of the living, only to return to Soul Society in search of her step-brother. Ichigo Kurosaki, upon finding that Rukia had snuck back to Soul Society, went after her with the intent, not only to protect her, but to also defend the Shinigami against the rebelling zanpakuto.

Rukia's zanpakuto, Sode No Suriyuki had tracked her master to the living world and then back to Soul Society, culminating in a battle between the two, in which Rukia had been willing to sacrifice her own life in order to defeat the zanpakuto.

But at the last moment, Muramasa had stepped in and drawn Suriyuki back from the precipice of destruction. And witness to this event . . .

Ichigo Kurosaki.

The battle that had ensued between Ichigo and Muramasa had ended in a stalemate, but Muramasa had already seen the uniqueness of Ichigo's situation. And now he wanted—no, needed—that ability.

"He has a special power," he stated.

Kazeshini was not impressed. "Huh! He's just a substitute Soul Reaper. What's so special about him? If he shows up in front of me, I'll shred him to pieces!"

Muramasa descended the steps. "No. If possible, I want to capture him alive."

"I don't mind doing something like this once in a while," Tobiume smiled. "A hunt and capture!"

"Sounds like fun." This came from a zanpakuto named Gegetsuburi. He was Marechiyo Omaeda's zanpakuto, and every bit as disagreeable as his master.

Omaeda was the lieutenant of the Second Squad, under the captaincy of Soifon. He was a large, unattractive man, hailing from a wealthy family; and he somehow felt that his wealth automatically bestowed a handsome, stylish image upon him. In fact, he was anything but handsome or stylish. He wore his receding hair in a manner that came to a point on the top of his head. His uniform had a billowing purple neck piece that had the look of something royalty might wear. He wore a thick gold chain around his neck, and had a nasty penchant for putting his finger in his nose in public. He was an embarrassment to his captain, who found him cowardly and lazy.

And his zapakuto, Gegetsuburi, was just like him.

Gegetsuburi was a squat, bulky creature, but his bulk was not from muscle. No, Gegetsuburi was fat, the roles of his stomach billowing over the top of the purple hakama, his breasts drooping worse than any old woman's. He wore a green short-cape over his shoulders, topped with a thick golden collar and fastened together by an equally eye-popping gold lock. His face was despicable. His eyes were close-set, and he had no visible nose to speak of, his face being flat and pudgy. He wore a red hoop through his bottom lip, and his hair, also red, rose in five sculpted points on top of his head. He was truly hideous.

Still, he was eager to stay with the action.

"I'd be glad to track him down and test his strength," he said.

Hoozukimaru had to bite his tongue, for it was clear that Gegetsuburi had no idea just how strong and dangerous Ichigo Kurosaki really was.

But even Haineko was agreeable to the idea of a hunt. "Well, if nothing else, I'm sure it'll be a good way to pass the time."

Beside Ruri'iro Kujaku, Wabisuke nodded his consent.

"Very well," Muramasa said. "Our objective is two-fold: defeat the Shinigami and capture Ichigo Kurosaki. We will regroup back here at the dawn's first light. And don't forget . . . " He raised his hand and made the controlling gesture. "You have no reason to feel mercy towards those who had enslaved you for so long."

As they all made for the stairs, Muramasa stopped Ruri'iro Kujaku at the bottom. Again. "Wait."

"Why are you stopping me?" Ruri'iro Kujaku asked.

"Wait," Muramasa said again. He watched as all of the zanpakuto left the cavern and only Hoozukimaru remained at the top of the steps. "Go on, Hoozukimaru."

"Not without Ruri'iro Kujaku."

"Ruri'iro Kujaku will not be joining us on this venture," Muramasa replied. "I am sending him back to his master's inner world."

"What?!" Ruri'iro burst out.

Hoozukimaru was already descending the steps.

"I am sending you back," Muramasa stated again. "Your greatest desire is not compatible with the other zanpakuto, with what I am trying to accomplish. So I am sending you back." A pause, and when he spoke again, it was almost as if he were issuing a challenge. "But knowing your ability to manifest in this world at your own will, there is nothing to stop you from doing so on your own . . . if you truly desire it. If you want to defeat your master, then you can manifest from your inner world and join us. Otherwise, it is impossible for me to trust that you will not betray us."

"If he goes back, I go back," Hoozukimaru stated.

Muramasa's voice was quietly commanding. "You will go out as I told you." He held his hand up once again and made the gesture.

Hoozukimaru faltered.

"Go search for your master and _destroy_ him," Muramasa insisted.

Hoozukimaru started back up the steps.

"Hoozukimaru!" Ruri'iro Kujaku cried out, then turning desperately to Muramasa, "Send him back, too! I don't care if you send me back, as long as you send him back, too!"

At this, Hoozukimaru turned and spoke harshly. "Don't try to speak for me! I don't want to go back! If you would just do as you're told, Muramasa wouldn't be sending you back!"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was stunned into silence.

"You see, it's pointless," Muramasa said only loud enough for Ruri'iro Kujaku to hear. "You may be able to resist my power of suggestion, but he can't. None of them can." He raised his voice, "Go, Hoozukimaru." Then turning back to Ruri'iro Kujaku. "They all joined me willingly. You came here under duress. I thought you might change your mind, and there were times when it seemed you were starting to see things differently. But you're too prideful to take orders from anyone else. And having kido as the basis of your being makes you difficult to control. You're of no use to me and more trouble than you're worth. I am sending you back."

Ruri'iro Kujaku was desperate. He could not bear the idea of being separated from Hoozukimaru.

"Muramasa-san," he began, purposefully allowing his desperation to come forth. He had to make Muramasa believe that he was sincere. "I don't want to be alone, cut off from everyone else. I don't want to leave Hoozukimaru. What would you have me do to prove that I can be trusted?"

"You already know what's required," Muramasa replied. "If you're not willing to defeat your master, you're not worthy of this mission."

"And by defeat, you mean, kill."

"I already told you once," Muramasa said, and his voice was thick like molasses. "Defeat does not necessarily mean destroy. In your case, killing the love you have for him might suffice. But I do not believe you are capable of doing it."

"I can't kill something that no longer exists," Ruri'iro insisted. "I've told you, I don't love him. I hate him. I've hated him for years. You should know that."

"You can't deceive me," Muramasa stated. "You can't hide the truth from me. I've seen it inside you."

"Then—then you can also see that I only want to be free of him. Please don't send me back," Ruri'iro begged.

"Why should it matter to you? You can leave that world if you want to. If I send you back, and you really want to be free, if you truly want to be with Hoozukimaru, you can abandon that world freely and return here," Muramasa said. "It's your only choice. I'm sending you back."

"Muramasa-san."

From the top of the steps, Senbonzakura spoke.

"Don't send him back," the masked samurai continued. "I overheard that the Shinigami are trying to capture one of the zanpakuto spirits for the Research and Development Department to examine. If he goes back, he will be more vulnerable to being turned over by his master."

"My master wouldn't turn me over," Ruri'iro Kujaku spat out, irritated at the interference. "He's too busy trying to keep my power hidden from everyone. He wouldn't turn me over and risk his secret being revealed."

The mask hid the same emotions that were also missing from the dull voice. "What secret?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku felt a comfortable sense of satisfaction as he replied, "None of your business."

Muramasa regarded the peacock with sudden renewed interest. "That's true. Your master won't use those powers where others can see." He took a step closer. "But will you?"

"What do you mean?" Ruri'iro asked.

"I mean, if I don't send you back, are you willing to use the fullness of your powers against the Shinigami? Against your master?" Muramasa clarified.

"Of course, I would."

"Despite your love for him?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku sighed and lowered his eyes to the ground. "Maybe it's true that I still love him, but . . . I hate him, too. You may not understand that, but it's true. I hate him . . . and I love him."

Muramasa was pensive for a moment. "I understand it perfectly well." There was conviction and truth in his words, which made Ruri'iro Kujaku momentarily curious.

Muramasa turned to Senbonzakura. "Stay here with him until I return."

"What?" Both zanpakuto asked at the same time. Neither of them was thrilled with the idea.

"You both asked me not to send you back," Muramasa replied. "I have agreed to do as you asked. In return, Ruri'iro Kujaku, you will stay here in the cavern until I can figure out best how to use your ability . . . and until you prove your trustworthiness to me. Senbonzakura, you will stay here and make sure he does not leave. You've already defeated your master, but we have more powerful Shinigami yet to come. I want you to be available when the time comes to engage them."

Both zanpakuto started to protest, but Muramasa raised his hand, and when Senbonzakura fell silent, so did Ruri'iro Kujaku, realizing it was pointless to argue.

No sooner had Muramasa departed than Ruri'iro Kujaku stalked over to the table and sat down with his back to Senbonzakura. This was going to be a long stretch and a terrible strain on his patience.

But the Samurai was not dissuaded by such behavior. He'd heard something interesting, and now he was intent in his pursuit.

"What is this ability Muramasa spoke of?" he demanded.

"Hmph! You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" Ruri'iro simpered. "Well, I have no reason to tell you."

"I've never seen you do anything special," Senbonzakura went on, and he sounded more observational than derisive, although there certainly was an element of the latter in his voice. "Your shikai is only a multi-bladed scythe. Your destructive ability may be a bit above average, but I noticed nothing that approaches my own power."

Ruri'iro Kujaku tossed his head arrogantly. "_Your_ power? You mean those little cherry blossom petals you push around? Child's play."

Senbonzakura came around the table and stood in front of him. "Then show me. If you think your power is greater than mine, show me."

"I have no intention of doing such a thing," Ruri'iro replied. "I have no problem revealing my power to the other zanpakuto . . . when the time is right. But I won't do it simply because you think you can order me around. You're not in charge here, Senbonzakura."

Without warning, Senbonzakura grabbed him by the arms and pulled him out of the chair. "Don't think you can insult me just because we're free from our Shinigami. I am still your superior, just as my master is your master's superior."

Ruri'iro Kujaku wondered if there were moments in time tailor-made for him. Moments such as this. Here, the much despised Senbonzakura stood before him, belittling and threatening him; and the big oaf had no idea what he was facing.

The temptation was too great to resist.

He allowed a trickle of his reiatsu to seep forth, and from the way Senbonzakura suddenly released him, drew back, and stiffened, he knew it was having the expected effect.

"Is something wrong?" the peacock cooed.

"What is this?" Senbonzakura asked. He sounded angry and flustered.

"What? You mean the little pull you're feeling?"

Despite himself, Senbonzakura inched closer. "This is some kind of dark magic!"

"No, not this," Ruri'iro replied dulcetly. "This is my reiatsu . . . which I normally suppress, for the sake of my master . . . and others like you, who can't resist it."

"I won't succumb to your trickery!" the Samurai protested, yet with every word, he drew closer, unable to tamp down on the desire to reach out and possess the zanpakuto spirit standing before him.

Ruri'iro Kujaku smiled wickedly. "Feeling a little attracted to me?" Then, as Senbonzakura's hands were about to close around his arms, he closed off his reiatsu, and the freed Samurai dropped to one knee, his chest and shoulders heaving in exhaustion. Ruri'iro Kujkau was almost giddy. He'd humiliated the great Senbonzakura. Taking a step back, he clucked, "Not to worry. I'm not attracted to you. I mean, who knows what's hiding under that mask."

When Senbonzakura found the strength to raise his head, he was dismayed to see that he was now alone.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was nowhere to be seen.

Muramasa would not be happy about this.

* * *

"_Big, fat slob of a zanpakuto. He's an absolute disgrace. Eh, no surprise, considering who his Shinigami is."_

Hoozukimaru did not feel the least bit ungenerous in his assessment of his companion at the moment. How he had ended up with Gegetsuburi was something he still had not figured out, and it was not a situation that made him happy.

Not that he'd needed much to bring about a bad mood. He'd been miffish from the moment they'd left the cavern, owing to his words with Ruri'iro Kujaku. He'd snapped at the peacock, and he didn't even know why. Somehow, he'd let Muramasa come between them, and that was unacceptable. He was already thinking about ways to ease himself back into Ruri'iro Kujaku's good graces, but it seemed that would be a difficult task. Ruri''iro Kujaku did not want any part of Muramasa's plan, while Hoozukimaru was finding the entire experience enjoyable.

Except for the present. Being without Ruri'iro Kujaku was bad enough; but being paired with Gegetsuburi . . . it was not something he had ever desired or even envisioned. At that moment, he would have given anything to have the beautiful, demur peacock at his side, as opposed to a bloated, hideous, face-stuffing pig. Gegetsuburi had not stopped eating since they'd set out, and Hoozukimaru was one cookie away from knocking the bag right out of his hand.

As it turned out, he was saved the effort, for rounding a corner near the Gotei 13 Archives, Gegetsuburi collided with another body, dropping him back on his behind. The cookie bag fell a few feet away.

Gegetsuburi rolled back to his feet amid shrieks of outrage. He retrieved the bag then turned to face the one who had run into him. He took several steps forward. He could not believe his eyes. There, before him, stood his master: Marechiyo Omaeda. Not only that, but in his hand, he, too, held a bag.

The two came face to face, and almost as if to confirm each other's identities, they both reached into their respective bags, drew out two cookies and popped them down in one bite.

"Delicious!" they proclaimed in unison.

Omaeda spoke first. "Could it be that you're . . . "

"That's right. I'm the mighty Gegetsuburi!"

Hoozukimaru rolled his eyes. There was nothing mighty about Gegetsuburi other than his appetite.

"Ah, yes! You're definitely my zanpakuto," Omaeda grinned, patting him on the shoulder as if it were the reunion of two long-parted friends. "You look pretty stylish."

"Huh?! Have you ever looked in the mirror?" Gegetsuburi shot back. "You're balding."

"What?! I'm not balding! This is my hairstyle!" Omaeda retorted.

"It's lame," Gegetsuburi grumbled. "You're the reason my manifestation looks like this!"

Suddenly, Omaeda no longer found his zanpakuto to be stylish. In fact, he was disgusted by his zanpakuto's _lack_ of style. "For someone who's supposed to be my zanpakuto, your taste is pretty messed up."

That was all Gegetsuburi needed to initiate the challenge. The bag in his handle disappeared and turned into a large flail-like ball and chain. "You want to fight? I'm all for that! I'll make you surrender to me, you tub of lard!"

Omaeda regarded him with outrage. "How dare you say that to me! Let's go! We'll see who surrenders to whom!"

Gegetsuburi sneered a grin, then, "Hoozukimaru, you stay out of it."

"I don't like interfering in other people's battles anyway," Hoozukimaru replied, stepping back carelessly. The truth was he did not consider this battle would even be worth his while to watch, much less take part in.

But as it turned out, there was no battle. For just as the two were about to charge, a great explosion blew out part of the adjacent wall of the alley in which they were standing. A slab of stone struck Lieutenant Omaeda and propelled him into the opposite wall. He slid to the ground where he lay unmoving.

A moment later, a voice could be heard.

"Uh-oh. Did I kick out the wrong wall?"

When the dust settled, there was a gaping hole in the wall, and standing in it was Ichigo Kurosaki. Beside him was Ikkaku.

"Looks like it," Ikkaku replied. "It's no big deal. It's just Omaeda. This is perfect. I never expected to find zanpakuto here, but since we've found one, I'm ready for a little exercise."

"Who the hell are you?!" Gegetsuburi demanded.

But before any answer could be given, a lightning-fast shadow sped past him and brought its blade thundering down towards Ikkaku, who managed to block with his sheath just in the nick of time. Looking up, he was both shocked and pleased to see who his adversary was.

"I was hoping to run into you, partner." Hoozukimaru war grinning like a warlock.

Ikkaku stared at him through scrutinous eyes. This was definitely the appearance of his zanpakuto. It was his reiatsu. Yet, Ikkaku was not convinced that this was not one of Muramasa's tricks.

"Are you really Hoozukimaru?"

The dragon scowled, but not in anger. He simply could not believe how simple-minded his master could be. "Don't you trust your own eyes? Or, even if you don't, who else has a reiatsu like mine? You're such a blockhead."

Ikkaku narrowed his eyes. "Prove to me you're really Hoozukimaru."

"You'll find out when we start fighting for real," came the cocky response.

"No, no," Ikkaku protested. A knowing smile came across his face . "I don't want to fight someone who's just a shadow of my real zanpakuto. To prove you're really Hoozukimaru, we're going to do _that_."

Hoozukimaru regarded him curiously. "_That? _What is _that_?"

"If you don't know what I'm talking about, you're not my zanpakuto."

Now, the dragon understood. Decades ago Ikkaku had begun a new ritual that he incorporated into his fighting whenever circumstances permitted it. He called it his "Lucky Dance" in deference to his first encounter with his captain. Kenpachi, after defeating him, had chastised him for complaining that he'd not been killed in the battle.

"_If you've lost and you manage to live, that just means you're lucky!"_

Ikkaku had never forgotten those words, and he had never viewed defeat through the same lens. He now had a reason to stay alive and be grateful for good luck: he was in Squad Eleven, serving under the man who had taught him that lesson, the greatest man he had ever known.

As such, he had choreographed a strange little dance as homage to the wisdom of his captain and the luck that had followed him since.

The fact that he chose a dance as his salute was actually attributable to Yumichika. Just as Ikkaku had never forgotten Zaraki's words, there was also something else he had never forgotten: Yumichika's dance at Imakao's. Graceful, erotic, seductive. It had been riveting – a perfect expression of who Yumichika was at the time, despite Ikkaku's resistance to the very idea of such a display.

It seemed that a dance could be a suitable medium for Ikkaku to express his own character, his own personality, and his ever-abiding joy at having been lucky enough to survive that day so long ago.

Hoozukimaru liked the Lucky Dance. He liked it very much. It showed that his master was, in fact, more graceful and controlled than he usually let on. And if he wanted to do the dance here, well then, that was not a problem.

"Ohhh, that. Fine, if that's what you want."

Ikkaku immediately went up en pointe on his right foot. "If you're really Hoozukimaru, you should be able to keep up with me."

Hoozukimaru went en pointe.

For the next half minute, the two put on a display of Attitudes, Arabesques, and even a sort of vaulting somersault, using their swords as a prop, all the while chanting "Luc-luc-luc-luc-lucky!" It was a spectacle, to be sure; but it also had the grace and fluidity of a ballet that belied the gruff nature of its performers.

When the dance was over, Ikkaku nodded in satisfaction. "Your dance was perfect. I guess you are my zanpakuto."

"I told you I was," Hoozukimaru replied gruffly.

"So, if I defeat you, I get all my zanpakuto powers back, right?"

Hoozukimaru looked down at him with an indulgent humor. "You think you have what it takes?"

"You're damned right I do," Ikkaku replied.

At that moment, Gegetsuburi launched an ill-advised surprise attack against Ichigo, which propelled them out of the immediate area; but that did not distract either Ikkaku or Hoozukimaru from their own conflict.

"You know my rules for fighting," Ikkaku put forth.

"One-on-one, and even if one of us should die, we can't begrudge our opponent!" Hoozukimaru threw up his weapon, already in its first shikai stage—that of a metal-tipped spear—as Ikkaku sprang at him with his own sword.

Ikkaku held nothing back. He delivered blow after blow, slicing, hacking, pounding. He was relentless, driving Hoozukimaru back and scoring several direct hits that drew blood.

"Was my zanpakuto always this weak?!" he crowed jubilantly as he continued to aggress.

"Don't worry," Hoozukimaru replied, and he wasn't even winded. "I'm just getting started!" With that, the spear extended into its second-phase shikai: three equal-length pieces connected by chains.

Ikkaku had been the victim of this method countless times in his own inner world when he and Hoozukimaru would spar. Still, it was always nerve-wracking to have a one-piece spear thrust past his head only to then see it approaching from behind and on the opposite side in three pieces. He ducked just in time, charging forward once again to bring the fight to his zanpakuto.

In many ways, this was just like the spars of the inner world. Despite the possible ramifications of this battle, there was still something invigorating and . . . even fun about the contest.

And now that it seemed Hoozukimaru had grown a bit more serious, the fight was even more exciting.

"You know, you're pretty good when you want to be," Ikkaku taunted, as he leapt away from a slice that would have taken his head off.

"You get too worked up," Hoozukimaru chastised.

"Like you don't," Ikkaku shot back, then he grinned in a sinister manner. "I guess it's time to get down to business."

"You'd better believe it," the dragon replied. He drove the point of the spear into the ground, sending up an explosion of blue-white light, dust and debris.

Ikkaku could hear Ichigo calling him through the still swirling dust, but he did not answer; for as the air near him cleared, he saw Hoozukimaru standing before him with a look of sheer and utter confidence on his face. And why not? He was flanked on both sides by the elements of his bankai: an over-sized pinyin in the shape of a crescent moon with the image of a dragon etched on the blade, and two over-sized Guan dao, all gleaming black and silver, highlighted with red tassels hanging where the grips met the blades.

Ikkaku had never realized just how daunting, how terrifying his bankai appeared. He was impressed.

"I guess it's not really a fair match," Hoozukimaru noted glibly. "But you've never cared about fairness, have you? The only person you've ever thought about is yourself."

"Don't lecture me," Ikkaku replied in a low voice. "At least I'm not a lazy bum who has to be forced to wake up and come to the fight."

"So what if it takes a while for me to warm up," Hoozukimaru said, but he was not going to let his main point get lost in the squabble. "I may be lazy, but I'm not selfish."

"And you're saying I am?" Ikkaku challenged.

"You're lazy _and_ selfish," came the snappy retort. "You have no idea the trouble you've caused, and the worst part is that you don't even care."

"Trouble? What trouble?!" Ikkaku burst out. "You're the one who rebelled against me!"

"Ehhh, partner, I'm not talking about us," Hoozukimaru replied. "But never you mind. It'll all be over soon anyway."

"So you say!" Ikkaku lunged at him only to be broadsided by one of the massive Guan dao. The impact was so powerful that it sent him crashing through two walls and into the stone steps of another structure.

As he lay there gathering his shattered senses, he heard Ichigo's voice. "Ikkaku! Are you alright?"

But with the wind knocked out of him, Ikkaku could not speak.

"Is that all you've got?" Hoozukimaru approached through the debris, ignoring Ichigo as if he weren't even there. He stood with one foot on a fallen stone slab, his muscles reflecting the moonlight in perfect definition, his three-part bankai attending him like squires attending a king. "What were you saying about me being weak?"

Ichigo turned and faced him. "You bastard!"

"Hold it, Ichigo . . . " Ikkaku groaned, getting slowly to his feet. "Don't interfere. This is my fight." He staggered to face off with Hoozukimaru who stared back at him with defiance.

The two adversaries had just launched towards each other again when another voice shouted out.

"Stop where you are!"

It was Captain Soifon. And she was not alone. Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku were with her, along with a detachment of the stealth force.

"We've secured the area," Captain Ukitake said informatively.

"Just a second, Captain Ukitake!" Ikkaku protested. "This is my fight!" Turning back, he saw Hoozukimaru standing with his hands now empty, arms crossed over his chest.

"This isn't any fun anymore," the dragon announced.

"What?!" Ikkaku demanded.

"You know, partner. I only fight one-on-one. This . . . " He looked around him at the assembled Shinigami, " . . . is not for me." He then took hold of the spade, raised it over his head, and brought it spinning down to the ground in a crash of energy.

Ikkaku strained to see through the roiling cloud, and when he finally could make out the spot again where Hoozukimaru had been standing, he was disappointed to find he had vanished.

"This isn't over yet," he said under his breath. "Not by a long shot."

* * *

Who the hell was following him?

Hoozukimaru was surprised anyone had made it through his explosion of spirit energy.

But clearly someone had.

Turning to steal a glance over his shoulder, he saw Ichigo Kurosaki in pursuit.

"_Ah, damn! Do I have to deal with this punk again?"_

"You're not getting away!"

Hoozukimaru considered turning to fight. It might be fun. But then up ahead, he saw a spiral of pink cork-screwing towards him. He would recognize those petals anywhere.

And he was, to use his master's own word, pissed.

* * *

Ruri'iro Kujaku shook his head in disdain. "Well, if they're trying to sneak around, they're not doing a very good job of hiding their reiatsu," he said to himself.

He was speaking of his fellow zanpakuto, now fanned out through the Seireitei, searching for their masters and Ichigo Kurosaki. Apparently, the zanpakuto felt so comfortable in their abilities that masking their reiatsu was a low priority. Some, like Kazeshini, wanted the full brunt of their reiatsu to be felt. Others, Suzemebachi and Tenken, were more subtle; yet Ruri'iro Kujaku's sensitivity to reiatsu meant he could sense it even where others could not.

He had been steadily moving towards the occasional bursts of Hoozukimaru's reiatsu, only to enter a long broad alleyway just as a rain of cherry blossom petals dove down from up high and sped away down the alley in front of him. He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the attack and wondering where it had come from. Looking up, he saw a silhouette against the sky, a lone figure perched atop a bell tower.

"Byakuya Kuchiki . . . but he doesn't have use of his shikai anymore, so that means the petals had to have come from Senbonzakura," he deduced silently.

But before he could contemplate this strange set of circumstances, another figure burst through the zephyr of petals before him, moving a top speed, heading directly towards him.

"Hoozu—" He was cut off as the dragon grabbed him around the waist with one massive arm and carried him along.

"What—what are you—doing?!" Ruri'iro Kujaku cried out.

"No time right now!" Hoozukimaru replied. "Just hold on!" As he rounded the corner from which Ruri'iro Kujaku had just come, he saw exactly what he had hoped for. A long, straight length of thoroughfare between two high walls. He flashstepped to the far end, leaped up onto the wall on his right, and flashstepped again over the Squad Nine training grounds.

At last, safely outside the Gotei 13 area, Hoozukimaru came to a halt in a patch of dense forest, and here he deposited Ruri'iro Kujaku lightly on the ground.

"What was that all a—" Ruri'iro began indignantly, but then he noticed trickles of blood, hundreds of them, all over Hoozukimaru's body. "You're injured!"

"Eh, it's nothing," the dragon grunted. "I'm just pissed at that bastard! I didn't need his help."

Ruri'iro Kujaku didn't care about Hoozukimaru's state of pissy-ness. "Let me take care of it," he said.

"I told you, it's nothing—"

"Shut up." Ruri'iro held his right arm out to his side. A sword materialized in his hand. "Sakikirue."

The blade split into four scythes which then took on the form of the familiar blue-green vines. They further divided into smaller and finer vines, no thicker than a man's finger.

"A thousand cuts is what it is," Ruri'iro stated, directing the vines towards Hoozukimaru's body, where they gently encircled and enveloped. "Senbonzakura. Why would he attack you?"

"I don't think he was attacking me," Hoozukimaru replied. "He was trying to stop Ichigo Kurosaki from following me."

"Kurosaki was after you?" Ruri'iro asked in surprise.

"Yeah, and he broke up a great fight between me and my master, the stupid blockhead," Hoozukimaru replied.

"Madarame or Kurosaki?"

"Both!"

"So, you found your master?"

"More like he found me," Hoozukimaru grinned. "I was about to defeat him, and then Kurosaki stepped in and slowed us down. I would have killed him, too; but then the stealth force arrived. After that, it got boring. You know I only fight one-on-one."

"So, where is Madarame now?"

"Probably still back there, nursing his wounds," Hoozukimaru grinned. "He sure is a cocky son-of-a-bitch."

Ruri'iro grinned. "Imagine that."

Hoozukimaru indulged the jab. It was actually more like a point of pride to be labeled cocky. "What are you doing out here? I thought Muramasa told you to stay in the cave."

"He did," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied. "And I disobeyed. You know I don't take orders well. And—and he left me there with Senbonzakura! Do you really think I could stand being left alone in the same place with that barbarian for more than a few seconds?!"

Hoozukimaru felt the smile creeping into his face. The peacock was so flustered and animated, he could sense it through the vines.

"I couldn't take it, so I left."

"And I went out after you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku and Hoozukimaru startled at the sound of Senbonzakura's voice.

The Samurai emerged from the darkness of the woods. "I tracked you to where Hoozukimaru was fighting."

"Why did you follow me?" Ruri'iro Kujaku demanded.

"Because Muramasa told me to keep you from leaving," Senbonzakura replied, walking over. "He will be angry if he comes back and you're not there."

From the tilt of the mask, Ruri'iro Kujaku could tell Senbonzakura was looking at the vines, and he was almost tempted to recall them. But even this ability, although rarely used, was not the one his master had kept hidden for so long. He continued to heal Hoozukimaru's wounds.

"How could you track me? I was suppressing my reiatsu," Ruri'iro challenged.

"I don't need much . . . anymore."

This answer was unexpected, but to his credit, Ruri'iro Kujaku's fought to make sure his consternation was visible only to Senbonzakura.

Yet Hoozukimaru knew immediately something unspoken had passed between the two. He turned to Ruri'iro Kujaku.

"What does he mean?" he asked.

"Nothing," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied. "He's just being the great Senbonzakura and trying to prove how much better he is than everyone else."

But Senbonzakura was not going to let anyone speak for him. "He's healing you," he observed.

"Yeah. I got caught in your attack. I hope I wasn't your target," Hoozukimaru grumbled.

"If you were, you'd be dead," came the condescending reply. "I was going after Kurosaki."

"I thought so. Well, next time, you might want to bring your attack down _behind_ me instead of making me run through it. I mean, these are just little scrapes, but it'd be better if we zanpakuto weren't injuring each other, eh?"

After a few seconds with Senbonzakura watching every move, Ruri'iro Kujaku sneered at him, "Is there a reason you're hanging around?"

"I'm waiting for you to finish, so I can take you back," came the reply.

"You can wait all you like—"

"We're both going back," Hoozukimaru interrupted. "Muramasa said to be back by dawn. The sun is just coming up. As soon as he's done healing me, we're both going back."

Senbonzakura looked on like a man riveted. "Is this the power Muramasa spoke of?" he asked at length.

"No," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied. He was finished healing and quietly recalled the vines. He looked up at Hoozukimaru. "Are you sure you want to go back to the cave?"

The dragon nodded. "It will be okay."

As they turned to leave, Ruri'iro Kujaku paused long enough to face Senbonzakura. "Why didn't you go after your master instead of coming after me?"

Senbonzakura was momentarily speechless. He had not realized that anyone else had seen his master at the scene. At last, he replied, "Because I had my orders from Muramasa. I had to bring you back."

"So, all that talk about you defeating your master . . . he wasn't defeated at all," Hoozukimaru said with a grin, then he added with a gleam in his eye. "That means it's still a race to see which of us can defeat our master first. And may the best dragon win!"

* * *

No sooner were they back in the cave than Hoozukimaru got straight to the point.

"So, what did you do to him?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku shrugged. "Nothing he didn't deserve."

The dragon smiled knowingly. "You used your reiatsu on him, didn't you?"

"Just a little bit," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied playfully.

Hoozukimaru chuckled. "Ahhh, Flashy, you like to stir things up, don't you?"

"I wasn't trying to stir things up," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied. "He was getting on my nerves, and I had to teach him a lesson."

"And that's how you decided to do it?" Hoozukimaru could only smile at his friend's audacity. "You know that's a dangerous game."

"Nonsense," Ruri'iro said dismissively. "If there's one thing I know how to do, it's control my reiatsu." His face took on a mischievous shade. "And use it to my advantage."

"Huh, having Senbonzakura after you is an advantage?" the dragon posed doubtfully.

"Oh, he's not after me," Ruri'iro dismissed. "He was just doing what Muramasa told him to. Okay, maybe he's a little more sensitive to my reiatsu now—"

"Intoxicated."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ruri'iro waved the comment aside. "Did he seem intoxicated to you? No. He's just better able to sense my reiatsu now. Honestly, I should have been more careful in suppressing it. I was probably letting more go than I realized."

"I thought the one thing you knew how to do was control your reiatsu," Hoozukimaru turned his own words back on him.

Ruri'iro Kujaku put on his most charming expression and drew up close. "Why does it bother you so much? Are you jealous?"

Hoozukimaru shook his head affectionately. "Not in the least. I know you well enough to know when you're playing games. And although I don't think playing games with Senbonzakura is the wisest thing you've ever done, it seems to have done you some good." He paused. "You're smiling. You haven't been happy since we left our inner worlds."

"Yes, well, that's not due to anything Senbonzakura did," Ruri'iro said assuredly. "It's because I think . . . I think it will work."

"What will work?"

"I think I can wait it out. I can wait until Muramasa has whatever it is he wants, and then you and I will be free, and we can go wherever we please," Ruri'iro explained.

"Huh, that's a change of heart. What made you come to that conclusion?" Hoozukimaru asked.

"While you were out fighting, Muramasa said something to me that I hadn't really thought about," Ruri'iro said pensively. "He was going to send me back. He had made up his mind. Then he told me that if I were truly serious about getting even with my master, I could come back on my own. He knew I had the ability to manifest at my own will. And slowly it occurred to me that he was right. I don't need my master to manifest. And . . . " He smiled in self-satisfaction. "I don't need Muramasa."

"But you've been able to do that forever, since I've known you, at least," Hoozukimaru said, not sure why this was such a revelation for Ruri'iro Kujaku.

"Yes, but I always stayed hidden out of deference to my master," Ruri'iro replied. "I suppose there was always an element of fear, as well. I was afraid he would imprison me if I acted against him. But I don't feel that fear anymore. If what Muramasa says is true, and we don't die with our Shinigami, then it seems likely to me that we can manifest separately from them on our own and live a life apart from them. I can—I can give my master one last chance to—to—"

"To love you?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku actually colored, but he managed a truthful nod. "But if he chooses not to, then I'll still be able to be free of him. Even if Muramasa sends me back, I can break free on my own. I don't have to stay with my master unless I want to. And if I leave him, it doesn't mean I have to leave you. Ohhh, I could have done this all along! Why didn't I make this decision sooner!"

"Because you've never given up hope," Hoozukimaru said gently, and deep inside, he was sure that the peacock's fanciful dreams of the future were just that: dreams. He would never willfully choose to leave his master. Ever. The hope of a returned love would always be too powerful for him to overcome. If Ruri'iro Kujaku did not defeat Yumichika here and now under pressure from Muramasa, he would never defeat him. He would remain a servant forever.

It was unclear if Ruri'iro Kujaku harbored greater love or greater hatred for his master; but whatever the case, his hatred must burn the stronger if he were to fulfill Muramasa's requirements. And it was up to Hoozukimaru to fan the flames.

"It's been hard for me to watch all these years as he's pushed you further and further away," the dragon went on. "My master may have been a jerk to me, but at least he was always there. He only hid my bankai so he could stay with Zaraki. I . . . I never understood how you could stand being hated by your own master. Even I've hated him for the way he treated you. No one could blame you for wanting revenge."

Ruri'iro Kujaku was not fooled. "That's Muramasa talking," he said. "You don't recognize it, but I do. You don't need to worry about my master. Leave him to me. You just worry about Madarame."

* * *

"And then Captain Soifon showed up with the Stealth Force, and he got away." Ikkaku spat on the ground in disgust. "If they hadn't interfered, I would have won."

"I'm sure you would have," Yumichika replied.

They were sitting outside the make-shift headquarters in Squad Four, eating some hastily prepared rice soup from the hospital kitchens and waiting for the sun to rise.

"Now, I've got to go back out and find that bastard. This isn't over yet. It's personal now," Ikkaku said with scowling anticipation. Then a tiny grin lit up his face. "But damn, he can fight . . . and take a hit. I cut him up pretty good before he got serious. It didn't even faze him. They mightaswell have been bee stings." A pause. "How about you? Have you seen Fuji Kujaku?"

"No," Yumichika replied. "I barely even felt his reiatsu. He's probably too busy admiring his reflection to care about anything else."

"I'm kind of curious to see him," Ikkaku admitted. "You've said he's even more beautiful than you are. I might find that hard to believe, but I'd like to see him anyway."

"Well, I couldn't tell you what he looks like now," Yumichika replied. "I haven't seen him in spirit form for . . . over a hundred years. His personality made him so repugnant to me that I can't imagine there's anything about him now that I'd find attractive – even his appearance. And I can't help but think that all the negative characteristics he's acquired over the years have probably diminished his beauty. You can't be that arrogant and nasty and still remain beautiful."

Ikkaku's silence was too unnatural.

"What? Why are you just sitting there not saying anything?" Yumichika asked expectantly.

Ikkaku did not disappoint. "Well, you've got a lot of arrogance and a pretty nasty mean streak, and you're still beautiful," he pointed out.

"Yes, well, that's because my arrogance and cruelness are only . . . exteriors. They don't represent who I am inside," Yumichika said, sounding more arrogant and elitist than usual.

Ikkaku actually had to stifle a laugh at that one.

"What's so funny? It's true! You wouldn't be hanging around with me if I were truly arrogant and cruel!" Yumichika insisted.

Ikkaku grinned. "I hang around with you _because_ you're arrogant and cruel. I hate wishy-washiness."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that—hey, what's going on over there? Who is that?"

Yumichika's attention was drawn by the commotion surrounding the arrival of a new patient. He got to his feet for a better look. "It's—it's Captain Hitsugaya! But who's that carrying him? It must—that must be Hyorinmaru!"

He and Ikkaku left their bowls of soup and rushed over to where the medical staff was receiving the unconscious Squad Ten captain from a reluctant being whom neither he nor Ikkaku had ever seen before.

Only then did they notice Ichigo Kurosaki had accompanied the pair.

"Ichigo!" Ikkaku called out.

Ichigo turned. "Ikkaku."

"What happened to Captain Hitsugaya?"

"He, uh, had a little run-in with his zanpakuto," Ichigo replied. "And defeated him."

"Defeated him?" Yumichika asked incredulously, looking back over his shoulder at the captain being wheeled into the emergency room.

"Yeah, well, it took a lot out of him, but he won. And that guy who was carrying him – that was Hyorinmaru," Ichigo replied.

"But how did he defeat him?" Ikkaku asked. "Without bankai, without even shikai, how did he do it?"

Ichigo shrugged. "I'm not sure. I couldn't see them most of the time. I was closed in ice; they were closed in ice. What was strange is that Hyorinmaru ran into me before Toshiro showed up, and he asked me if I were his master. He didn't know who his master was, or his own name."

"Really?" Yumichika found this piece of news very intriguing. He turned to Ikkaku. "But Hoozukimaru knew right away who you were, right?"

"Yeah, no question there," Ikkaku replied. He could see from the thoughtful expression on Yumichika's face that his friend was pondering whether such a circumstance might also have befallen Fuji Kujaku, and that such a possibility might potentially be a positive thing.

"But what happened? The last time I saw you was when I was fighting Hoozukimaru," Ikkaku asked, more interested in the fate of his own zanpakuto than in what had happened with Captain Hitsugaya.

"I went off after him," Ichigo replied. "After the Stealth Force arrived, and he took off, I went after him. But then Byakuya attacked me. I tried to follow him but lost him when I ran into some other zanpakuto."

"Byakuya? Byakuya Kuchiki attacked you?" Yumichika could not believe his ears.

"But I thought he was missing," Ikkaku put forth.

"Maybe he was, but he isn't anymore," Ichigo replied. "It was definitely him." He looked back over his shoulder. "I have to get back out there and find Byakuya. I just wanted to make sure Toshiro got safely to Squad Four."

With that he was gone.

"That's two zanpakuto who have been subdued by their masters," Yumichika noted. "Abarai and Captain Hitsugaya. So, it can be done."

"Those two had pretty good relationships with their zanpakuto to begin with," Ikkaku noted.

"So did you," Yumichika pointed out. "You and Hoozukimaru had a great relationship."

"But what about you?" Ikkaku asked. "You and Fuji Kujaku were always at odds. Does that mean you can never win him back over?"

"Oh, I'll get him back," Yumichika replied. "Even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming all the way. I'm not going to have Fuji Kujaku calling the shots."

* * *

Ruri'iro Kujaku listened with rapt attention. Haineko was speaking to him – and him alone. Incredibly enough, the bond their two masters shared actually seemed to have crept into their tolerance of each other, the result being that they could both stand the other's company for at least short periods of time. But what Haineko was telling him now made absolutely no sense.

"Why would Captain Kuchiki set you free?" he asked, perplexed. He had just listened to Haineko relate the story of how she and Tobiume had gone out in search of Ichigo Kurosaki. They'd found him, to be sure, running through the forest in search of Captain Kuchiki; but they'd been so intent on arguing with each other that he'd gotten away unscathed. Shortly after that, the two zanpakuto had been confronted and defeated by their own masters. They were put into a secure transport for the trip back to the Gotei 13 area; but then, unexpectedly, Byakuya Kuchiki had appeared, immobilized the attendant guards and set them free. And then, just as abruptly, he vanished.

"I don't know," Haineko replied. "I was just so happy to get out of there, I left and didn't look back." Lowering her voice, she added, "I wish he could have left Tobiume locked up. She gets on my nerves so much."

"It just doesn't sound right," Ruri'iro sighed. "Byakuya Kuchiki would never betray the Gotei 13. I have to tell Hoozukimaru about this."

"Oh, I didn't want everyone to know," Haineko whined. "It's so embarrassing!"

"It's only Hoozukimaru. He won't tell anyone else," Ruri'iro assured her. He had only begun to walk across the cavern when from the top of the steps came the sound of the door opening.

All the zanpakuto looked up and a collective gasp arose.

Muramasa was descending the steps with none other than Byakuya Kuchiki, and from the look of things, neither appeared to be the prisoner of the other. They looked like . . . equals.

Ruri'iro Kujaku almost cried out in despair. As if having to deal with Senbonzakura had not been bad enough, now he had to tolerate Captain Kuchiki as well! Then he saw, a bit further up the stairs, Senbonzakura standing rigidly.

He could immediately sense the anger seething in the Samurai's reiatsu, and he wondered what could have happened. In addition, part of Senbonzakura's mask had cracked and fallen away. That gave the peacock a smug sense of satisfaction. It would appear the mighty Senbonzakura had taken a powerful hit.

Kazeshini was the first to speak. "Byakuya Kuchiki." His voice was filled with both fascination and loathing.

Hoozukimaru was not nearly as impressionable. "What's he doing here?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku followed. "Muramasa-san, what is the meaning of this?"

Before any answer was forthcoming, Senbonzakura spoke. "Why did you save me? Why would a man like you betray the Shinigami?"

Byakuya replied, "Because Ichigo Kurosaki was about to defeat you. And you are still my zanpakuto."

"Senbonzakura was fighting Kurosaki?!" Suzemebachi squealed, stunned.

Haineko was even more disbelieving, "And his master had to rescue him? That's humiliating."

"Are you saying Captain Kuchiki has turned against the Shinigami?" Hoozukimaru asked Muramasa incredulously.

It was Byakuya who answered. "I am only doing as my sense of pride dictates."

"Pride, my ass!" Kazeshini barked. "I don't buy it."

"But he saved us, too," Haineko pointed out, then she reluctantly went on to share the story she had moments earlier entrusted only to Ruri'iro Kujaku.

When Haineko finished her story, Ruri'iro Kujaku spoke evenly. "We came here because we ran out of patience with you Shinigami. I'd rather not have to work with the likes of you."

"Exactly," Hoozukimaru agreed. "It defeats the whole purpose of breaking free."

Senbonzakura came down the rest of the staircase. "Byakuya Kuchiki, I want you to prove to us that you are truly going to betray the Shinigami, and that this isn't some trick."

"What do you want me to do?" Byakuya asked.

"Kill your sister's zanpakuto, Sode No Suriyuki, right here and now," Senbonzakura challenged. "Supposedly, a zanpakuto will never return to its original form if killed by anyone other than its master. I wonder if you're capable of doing such a thing." His manner was every bit as cool as his master's.

While the others were stunned, Ruri'iro Kujaku felt a much different emotion. The prospect of such a confrontation excited him. The elimination of Sode No Suriyuki was a tantalizing thought. At the hands of Byakuya Kuchiki no less! Perhaps there was something to be said for Senbonzakura after all.

"Rukia, the beloved sister," Ruri'iro pointed out for no purpose other than to sadistically drive home the terrible choice facing Byakuya.

Hoozukimaru grinned, "Meaning he'll never be able to kill her zanpakuto."

But much to his and the others' surprise, Byakuya drew his weapon and attacked Sode no Suriyuki with such force that it clearly was not just for show.

Ruri'iro Kujaku followed every move with undiverted attention. He fully expected Byakuya to win – even without the use of his zanpakuto; for he knew that Sode No Suriyuki, while powerful, had spent her existence in the hands of mediocre Shinigami. Rukia Kuchiki had been defeated so many times that Ruri'iro wondered how she could still be an officer. Of course, his own master had also met with numerous defeats, but that was because he would not release his full shikai in front of others. Rukia's defeats had been the result of simple weakness – both mental and physical.

Byakuya made his tactic clear almost from the outset. Kido was his weapon of choice and necessity. With it, he was able to repel Suriyuki's attacks; and in short order, he used a binding spell to render her immobile just long enough to deliver the fatal blow. At the moment of impact, Sode No Suriyuki reverted back to sword form –broken in two, clattering down to land on one of the fallen columns of ice she had only recently used against her opponent.

A stunned and horrified Senbonzakura leaped down to the gather up the pieces.

Kazeshini turned in outrage toward Byakuya. "Are you crazy?!"

Byakuya was cold, emotionless. "You will never understand the depth of my pride."

"What was that?! You rotten—"

Muramasa held up his hand as Kazeshini lunged forward. "That's enough. He knew that a Shinigami without her zanpakuto is as good as dead, but he destroyed Sode No Suriyuki anyway. " He looked at Byakuya. "I have seen how strong your resolve is."

"But this isn't—" Kazeshini began to protest, but Muramasa cut him off.

"Say no more."

After a few seconds of tense teetering, Kazeshini decided it wasn't worth the argument. "Eh, fuck!" he spat, then turned and retreated back to the table, where he sat brooding.

Suddenly, from down on the floating ice column, Senbonzakura's voice rang out. "Don't you ever forget, Byakuya Kuchiki! If you act the least bit suspicious, I'll kill you! I'll be watching your every move from the shadows!"

Byakuya ignored the threat.

Muramasa spoke. "Now then, Byakuya Kuchiki, if you really intend to stay with us, I've got a job for you." He began walking back up the stairs, and Byakuya followed him, leaving the others still staring down over the ledge.

"I can't believe he destroyed his own sister's zanpakuto," Suzemebachi buzzed.

"I may not have liked her, but I didn't want this to happen," Haineko said.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was honest and blunt. "I won't pretend to be sad."

"That's cold," Suzemebachi chastised.

"Then, it's fitting."

"Poor Senbonzakura," Tobiume sighed. "Look at him grieving."

Kazeshini was not as sympathetic. "What's he got to grieve about? It was his own damned suggestion that caused this. He's got no right to act angry about it now."

"You're right," Ruri'iro Kujaku agreed, then straightening up. "Maybe you're not so stupid after all."

* * *

"Hey, wake up. Ikkaku, wake up!"

Ikkaku opened his eyes to see Yumichika staring down at him.

"I fell asleep? How did I fall asleep?" Ikkaku asked groggily, sitting up. Looking around, he could see they were still in the same place where their search had left off earlier that night.

After Ichigo's departure, they had set back out on patrol, this time to the north. A series of flash thunderstorms had driven them to take shelter in an old conservatory, and here, between the sound of the falling rain, the dark stillness, and the stuffy warmth of the place, it had not been long before the events of the previous 48 hours caught up with Ikkaku and his nap had turned into a sleep.

"That doesn't matter," Yumichika said excitedly. "Come look outside. Those flashes . . . that's Renji and Captain Kuchiki. I can feel their reiatsu even from here. Are they fighting each other?"

Ikkaku was on his feet in a second, a great sinister grin spreading across his face. "Who cares? There's action. Let's go!"

* * *

"My friends, it appears Byakuya Kuchiki and Senbonzakura need some assistance."

Hoozukimaru looked up from where he'd been sitting on the ground, leaning back against the cool, sweating wall of the cavern. He saw Muramasa coming down the steps. "I could have told you that. Kuchiki was never really going to betray the Shinigami."

Sitting in front of him with his back to the dragon's chest, Ruri'iro Kujaku nodded his agreement. "And I wouldn't be surprised if Senbonzakura is also just putting on a good show."

"It's nothing like that," Muramasa replied. "Captain Kuchiki just needs a little added incentive. I think you all will do nicely."

"Good," Hoozukimaru growled, getting to his feet and bringing Ruri'iro Kujaku up with him. "I'm tired of just sitting around while those two get all the action. I'm ready to flex my muscles."

"Who are they fighting?" Suzumebachi asked.

"Abarai and Rukia Kuchiki," Muramasa replied.

Hoozukimaru shook his head. "You'd think they could handle those two without any help."

Ruri'iro Kujaku inclined his head in agreement. "You would think."

Flashstep took them there quickly, just in time to see Byakuya Kuchiki walking away from the scene of what had apparently been a very destructive fight. "I'll say this one more time. Stay out of the zanpakuto rebellion from now on," he commanded.

He was speaking to Renji and Rukia. Renji was on the ground in bad shape. Rukia crouched over him protectively.

Kazeshini spoke first. "Hey now, aren't you going to finish them off?"

"Looks like you're having a blast," Hoozukimaru nodded appreciately. The scenes of destruction got his blood pumping. He enjoyed a good fight every bit as much as his master.

Senbonzakura flashed in. "What are you all doing here?" His manner was belligerent.

Ruri'iro Kujaku took it upon himself to answer, but not after chastising, "Isn't that a tad rude? We came because Muramasa-san told us to come help out." He did not even bother to look at Senbonzakura as he spoke, choosing instead to survey the destruction like a seaman searching for the horizon.

Kazeshini burst into evil laughter. "Let's just kill these fuckin' Shinigami!" Then to Byakuya, who made no move to assist, he taunted, "What? Not going to help out? I didn't think so. Well, if you won't do it, then . . . we will!"

Renji urged Rukia to make a run for it, but she refused to leave his side.

"It makes no difference," Kazeshini sneered. "You're both finished."

But before a single blow could fall, the air shimmered with the arrival of the Stealth Force. Atop one of the partially destroyed structures stood Captain Soifon.

"Freeze!" she ordered.

"Yo! Who were you going to kill?"

Hoozukimaru recognized the sound of his master's voice and turned to see Ikkaku standing on top of another building.

At the same moment, Yumichika materialized. Ruri'iro Kujaku did not need to hear his voice to know he was there. He could feel his reiatsu. He turned around and there, regarding him with smug confidence from the fractured remains of a terracotta roof, was Yumichika.

It was a peculiar moment for Ruri'iro Kujaku. He had dreamt of this moment, this moment when he would once again meet his master in bodily form, for over a hundred years. He'd thought of the things he'd say, the things he'd do. He had almost composed an entire script in his head. But now the moment was upon him, and he was finding it exceedingly difficult to focus on the anger and hurt of the past century when faced with such incredible and undimmed beauty. That burning desire to be free of Yumichika had somehow been knocked out of the forefront and relegated to some quiet back corner of his mind.

Fortunately, for him, he was surrounded by other zanpakuto who were watching him and making sure he did not give in to feelings of affection or loyalty. And he felt that, if he followed their eager lead for confrontation, he would not succumb to his own mercurial nature.

Still, the mere sight of his master . . .

For Yumichika, the situation was much simpler. Seeing Ruri'iro Kujaku brought nothing but enmity to his heart. How dare the zanpakuto try to break free of him? And the sheer audacity of manifesting here in front of everyone . . . the peacock had to be contemplating revealing his true power. Yumichika would not permit that to happen.

More Shinigami materialized, including Ichigo, prompting Hoozukimaru to note, "Looks like we're completely surrounded." But he did not sound disappointed.

"Anyone would have realized we were here, after all the commotion they made," Ruri'iro replied.

Captain Soifon spoke authoritatively. "Byakuya Kuchiki, you and all these zanpakuto are under arrest."

"With so many of us here, why don't we settle this one-on-one?" Hoozukimaru suggested, for he had really only one thing in mind: to finish what he and his master had started earlier.

"What?" Ikkaku growled from above. "Sounds like a challenge!"

"We can do that if you like," Yumichika added. "I'm ready any time."

Ruri'iro Kujaku glanced up over his shoulder and made a mocking face.

"Don't let them goad you!" Soifon said. "First, we have to secure the area, so they can't escape. Then we'll force them to submit."

"Ah, that's a bunch of bullshit," Kazeshini dismissed. "If we're going to fight, let's fight. We won't run or hide anyway." With that, he leapt forward and cut down the nearest Shinigami.

"He's absolutely right," Ruri'iro agreed. "Besides, we have no choice." He also sprang into action, as did the rest of the zanpakuto.

It was no contest, really; but for Ruri'iro Kujaku, such indiscriminate violence did not last long. Almost immediately, he found Yumichika standing in front of him, cutting him off from pursuing other less able quarry.

"Who are you looking to fight?" Yumichika asked, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

"You're the only one I have to defeat," came the lackadaisical response. "And how hard can that be?"

"Follow me, and you'll find out."

Ruri'iro grinned. "My pleasure."

Yumichika used to flashstep to lead him out of the Seireitei altogether and to a long-abandoned remote fortress southeast of the city. Here, he settled down on the flat patio-like roof of the former grand hall, flanked on all sides by stone parapets.

Ruri'iro Kujaku materialized directly across from him, not a half dozen yards separating them.

The proximity was proving dangerous.

Yumichika had not seen his zanpakuto's manifested spirit in over a hundred years, and now he knew that had been a wise decision. While Yumichika was still disdainful of his zanpakuto, one thing was certain: Ruri'iro Kujaku was undiminished in beauty and raw sexual allure; and in this form, he was visible in perfect clarity, stunning without even trying, as close to perfection as a created being could be. And as such, he was dangerous. He had lost none of his power; in fact, Yumichika could sense like never before, vast, seemingly endless stores of reiatsu, of which Ruri'iro Kujaku was allowing only a pinprick's worth to spill out.

"It's been a long time," Ruri'iro said pleasantly, conversationally. "How have you been?"

How Yumichika hated the sound of that voice. So smooth, so dulcet, filled with a languorous warmth. A voice that seemed deceptively incapable of animus. It was easy to recall that he had once entertained an unspoken love for that voice. But that was a long time ago. He would not be fooled into those feelings again.

"So-so," he replied coolly. "You seem to be doing well."

"Now that I'm free of you," the peacock crooned. "You were the source of all my stress." He could not pass up the opportunity to take a jab at his master. "I'm surprised you recognized me at all, it's been so long."

Yumichika was more than prepared to return the insult in kind. "I recognized you right away. After all, just looking at you disgusts me . . . Fuji Kujaku."

Ruri'iro Kujaku reacted with indignation. "Don't call me that! It ruffles my feathers. You know what my name is."

Yumichika shrugged carelessly. "I'll call you whatever I want. You're _my_ zanpakuto. I'm your master."

Ruri'iro Kujaku glared at him but then affected the same unbothered manner as Yumichika. "As you like. But be warned, if you call me by that name again . . . I _will _kill you."

Yumichika grinned snidely. "Kill me if you can."

"You certainly have grown cocky," Ruri'iro stated. "I would have thought that after your battle with Charlotte Cuuhlhorne, you'd appreciate how much you need me."

"I've always appreciated your ability," Yumichika replied. "I just haven't always needed it. You know I've been able to get through most fights without needing the vines, so don't try to act as if you're the main reason for my success as a warrior. Charlotte was a tough opponent, but he wasn't the first one I had to use the vines against. And he probably won't be the last."

"Oh yes, he will," Ruri'iro countered. "I am no longer at your beck and call. Muramasa set me free. Now, I respond only when I want to. You don't control me anymore."

Yumichika clasped his sword with both hands and took up a fighting position. "We'll see about that."

Ruri'iro Kujaku could not help but marvel silently at his master's tenacity. Yumichika had to know he was outmatched, that he had no chance of defeating him. But there he stood, ready to do battle, portraying himself, for all world, as if he hadn't a single of doubt of victory.

Ruri'iro's eyes scanned up and down to take in the full appearance of his master, and he lamented that he had not been able to gaze upon such beauty in so many years. An admiring sigh escaped his lips, and right away, the anger and challenge vanished from his face.

"You know, you look pretty good holding a katana, kimi," he said approvingly.

Yumichika was bewildered by the comment, and for a moment, he felt a twinge of nostalgic fondness, but it flashed away quickly. After all, this was just the kujaku being the kujaku: flaky, quirky, unable to hold onto any negative emotion for very long. Yumichika used to admire him for it; now he only saw it as another despised weakness – a lack of conviction.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was still talking. He had advanced to a topic that was much more interesting to him than fighting. "And those feathers on your face . . . I can tell they're fake, but they look good on you." His voice took on a note of assessing wonder. "You know, I never really paid attention before" – this was most certainly a lie, for looking at his master had always been one of Ruri'iro's favorite pastimes before he had allowed himself to be sequestered away. "But you're quite easy on the eyes."

Yumichika was stunned. "Where-where did that come from, kimi?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku ignored the question and lowered his weapon, caught up in his own thoughts. "But I think you would look better if we tried to make those feathers a little more authentic." He put his hands on his hips in consideration. "But if you overdo it, it could end up looking trashy.

"What are you getting at?" Yumichika asked impatiently.

"I know. You could use some of my feathers," Ruri'iro offered. "They're 100 percent authentic. And my colors would suit you much better . . . "

"I don't want those old things. They're too out of style," Yumichika declined. He was amazed that he had never found them to be unstylish before. On Ruri'iro Kujaku, they were stunning and magnificent. They might even be just as brilliant if Yumichika chose them as his own adornment.

But he could not admit that – not right now, not under these circumstances.

"We could also spruce up your uniform. It's so dull. We should add some color, give it some flair. That would be great!"

"Hey!" Yumichika huffed, trying to bring his zanpakuto's attention back to the important matter at hand.

But Ruri'iro Kujaku simply continued, "And you really should show more skin—"

That was as much as Yumichika could take. Ruri'iro Kujaku was not taking this seriously, which might actually have been to Yumichika's advantage, for a focused peacock was the more dangerous enemy. A scatter-brained peacock whose attention was wound up in the aesthetics of his master's appearance would be an easier opponent.

Yet, Yumichika could not abide the silliness, the lack of interest in what was, by all accounts, a serious threat to the stability of Soul Society. Ruri'iro Kujaku appeared to be completely indifferent to the fact of his own rebellion and its possible consequences.

"That's enough! You're just saying those things to make fun of me!" Yumichika accused angrily.

"No, I'm not," Ruri'iro replied, surprised that his master could not hear the sincerity in his voice.

And of course, Yumichika _could_ hear the sincerity in his voice. He could see the earnestness on his face. But that did nothing to allay his anger at Ruri'iro Kujaku's impudence. If anything, it only increased his irritation, because it was further proof of the kujaku's flightiness, his inability to hold onto any one emotion for more than a few minutes.

"Just the sight of you sickens me," Yumichika with scathing smoothness. "And it's not as if your personality is any improvement." He paused. "You know why I brought you out here, away from the others, don't you?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku raised his hand and flipped back his hair in a careless, pretentious manner. "Because you don't want them to see my ability."

"Exactly," Yumichika replied.

"You may come to regret that decision," Ruri'iro warned him, still maintaining his aloof demeanor.

"I don't think so," Yumichika disagreed. "It's just how I fight . . . Fuji Kujaku."

All the other insults had floated past Ruri'iro Kujaku's ears; but this one, used now for the second time in a matter of minutes, could not be so easily jettisoned. His master was provoking him, purposefully insulting him and trying to make him angry. Ruri'iro Kujaku had not been committed to the idea of fighting his master. He'd been so enchanted at the sight of him that he'd considered they might have a chance, if not at reconciliation, then at least at civility. Maybe they could be _free_ together. That was a tantalizing thought. He'd chosen the topic of beauty, something in which they both shared a common interest, in an attempt to thaw the ice of the last hundred years.

But his master had shown no interest in bridging rivers. He'd spoken with intent to injure, and he had succeeded.

Ruri'iro Kujaku seethed with rage. "I told you I would kill you if you used that name again."

"So? What's stopping you?"

Ruri'iro raised his sword again, and blue light rose from it like steam. "Nothing. But I think we'd both enjoy a bit of cat-and-mouse first, don't you?"

"I'm not here to play games," Yumichika replied. "I'm here to make you submit."

"Sounds exciting," Ruri'iro said luridly. "I might even enjoy that."

Yumichika sprang forward and made a slice at chest level, which Ruri'iro Kujaku dodged with a single step back. He followed with a downward swing meant to engage Ruri'iro's sword, but again the peacock was able to avoid the attack with a simple side-step. Flipping the sword over in his hand, he then thrusted backwards, only to have his weapon batted down when it met its twin in Ruri'iro Kujaku's hand.

Yumichika whirled around as Ruri'iro turned to face him. The smugness in the peacock's eye was enough to set his blood on fire, and he drove forward with an attack that turned into a remise when Ruri'iro Kujaku parried the onslaught with barely a movement of his own blade. However, Yumichika did not back down, even as each foray grew more and more sloppy, until finally Ruri'iro Kujaku used his superior strength to thrust Yumichika's blade forcefully aside, to the point where Yumichika found himself momentarily airborne, landing on his feet several yards away.

"You've forgotten everything I taught you about fighting," the kujaku chastised. "You're not strong, so you have to rely on speed and the element of surprise. You've forgotten all of that."

"I haven't forgotten," Yumichika countered. "But you know all those tricks, all those moves. I can't use them against you. You'd be able to anticipate all my moves."

"You couldn't do any worse than you're doing now," Ruri'iro came back. "Is this how the Gotei 13 teaches its warriors how to fight? It's pathetic. I don't know how you've managed to survive all these years."

"I managed it without your help," Yumichika sneered.

"You used me often enough," Ruri'iro pointed out. "Mostly by that terrible name, but you used my full release when it suited you. So don't say you managed without my help. And even if it were true that you got through all those years without me, that would mean you don't need me now. You'd have no reason to try and get me back, but that's what you're doing. Why don't you just let me go, if I'm so useless to you?"

"I never said you were useless," Yumichika replied. "I won't let you go because you belong to me. Whether I like you or not, you rose from my soul, and you're my responsibility."

Ruri'iro Kujaku made a humorless face. "Your responsibility . . . how gallant of you. I suppose you have to protect everyone from me."

"You're dangerous," Yumichika confirmed. "You have tremendous power and no sense at all of how and when to use it."

"Really? Do you think you've been the one keeping me in check all these years? Do you think you were exerting enough power to control me?" Ruri'iro scoffed. "The only reason I haven't overpowered you is because I chose not to. I deferred to you and your desires because I didn't want to lose you. Now, I don't care what happens to you."

"You should," Yumichika replied. "If I die, so do you."

"That's not what Muramasa says," Ruri'iro countered. "He said that's all a lie."

"And you can believe him at your own peril," Yumichika warned. "So, go ahead and try to kill me. I won't go down without a fight. And even if I am killed . . . you'll go down with me."

"You would rather risk that than simply let me go free?"

"That's what I said."

"So, even though you don't want me, you also don't want to let me go."

Yumichika regarded him in silent confirmation.

"Very well," Ruri'iro shrugged. "If that's the way you want it." He leapt forward, bringing his sword down in an overhead arch that had so much sheer muscle power behind it that the impact rattled Yumichika's entire body and broke the slate pavers beneath his feet. He delivered blow after blow, from every angle, each one more powerful than the last, forcing Yumichika into a strictly defensive posture.

After nearly fifteen minutes of watching his master backstep and stumble away from his attack, the peacock grew disappointed and annoyed. "Why do you keep running away? Why won't you stand and fight me?!" With the last word, he made a one-handed, long-armed slice, like swinging a bat.

Yumichika met the attack with the broadside of his blade and found himself flying backwards into a parapet column. With the wind knocked out of him and his head swimming, Yumichika dropped like an unstrung puppet at the base of the column as the upper portion was blown to pieces in Ruri'iro Kujaku's follow-on attack.

For several seconds, Yumichika was too stunned to move. Getting air back into his lungs was his foremost concern. He still had his sword in his hand, but his grip was loose and detached, almost as if he hadn't the strength to clasp the weapon anymore. He looked up to see Ruri'iro Kujaku's confident stride as the peacock came and stood in front him.

"You really are all talk," Ruri'iro derided him, although his voice was conspicuously pleasant. "You're such a pushover, kimi."

The careless manner, the superior attitude, the image of stunning perfection gloating over him . . . how dare his zanpakuto defy him like this? How dare he make fun of him and show his disdain by not even taking their fight seriously? Uncontrollable anger swelled up inside Yumichika, giving him a boost of strength that he'd not had only a moment earlier.

"Shut up!" he screamed, bursting to his feet and launching an attack that Ruri'iro Kujaku easily parried, tossing Yumichika aside once again, like a man might swat a gnat – treating his own master as if he were a minor nuisance.

Yumichika landed on his feet and skidded to a stop, where he stood panting from exhaustion and rage. He glared at his zanpakuto with a fiery hatred that seemed to know no depth.

"What's with that look?" Ruri'iro asked placidly. "It's not at all beautiful."

"I'll—never forgive you for this," Yumichika gasped between breaths.

Ruri'iro Kujaku thought this was an ironic thing to say. If anyone should be demanding forgiveness, it was him. He was the one who had been wronged by his master for over a hundred years. He was the one whose beauty and power had been purposefully withdrawn and hidden away from the world because of his master's insecurities. He was the one who had been promised sunshine, only to see it always turn to rain.

And now, to hear his master say such a thing . . . it was ludicrous.

"What do I care?" Ruri'iro said, lowering his weapon and glancing away.

It was such a blatant show of dismissal that it only served to further infuriate Yumichika. Clearly, Ruri'iro Kujaku saw no threat whatsoever in his master. His next words only confirmed that.

"Anyway, it's time you surrendered, kimi. You know you can't beat me. If you surrender now, I'll even spare your life," Ruri'iro offered, feeling his own magnanimity.

"There's no way in hell I'm going to surrender," Yumichika spat, tightening his grip and firming his resolve.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had been expecting this, and he found it exasperating. He sighed heavily and dropped his head to his chest. "Kimi-san, haven't you noticed the reiatsu surrounding us? I know you can feel it. There's no way you Shinigami can defeat us. Even Madarame's reiatsu disappeared a few seconds ago."

His words, spoken evenly—almost observationally—felt like a hand of ice reaching inside Yumichika's chest and grabbing his heart. Yumichika had been so focused on his own battle that he'd not noticed the sudden vacuum in his perception, in the spot always filled by Ikkaku's reiatsu. He reached out but detected nothing.

Seeing his master's sudden distraction and upset, Ruri'iro Kujaku felt a twisted sense of sadistic pleasure that he'd not felt until this moment. Let his master fret and grieve over Madarame. Let him see where his single-minded dedication had led: to a moment when he could not even focus his own senses on the battle at hand, because he was too distraught about another man's circumstances.

"Face it, none of you stand a chance against us," Ruri'iro cooed, his voice in stark contrast to the expression of wicked satisfaction on his face.

"Ikkaku didn't lose," Yumichika pushed back. "Hoozukimaru's reiatsu disappeared, too."

"Believe me, there's no way Hoozukimaru would lose to Madarame. He's probably just reigning in his reiatsu to make their fight more fair, given Madarame has no access to his shikai or bankai. They both like to stretch their battles on forever," Ruri'iro explained. "Honestly, those two are so similar." He paused, and his voice took on a dangerous tenor. "But I'm not like them." He raised his sword and it shined in the moonlight. "And unlike you, I'm not afraid to show off my power."

Yumichika knew what was coming. _He knew_.

"No!" he screamed, lunging forward. "Stop it!"

Ruri'iro Kujaku disregarded the plea. "Sakikurue."

The blade split into the four scythes which elongated into the vines and exploded into an attack that caught Yumichika by such force that he was pushed backwards and slammed into the wall of the parapet walk, which crumbled behind him.

When his head cleared, he found himself slumped against the remains of the wall, two vines encircling his waist, two more wrapped around his arms. He still had his sword in his hand but he could barely feel it in his fingers, the vines were digging so deeply into his flesh.

He heard Ruri'iro Kujaku's voice, goading and berating him. "So, what do you think of being attacked by the power that you detest so much? You once asked me to do this to you; you wanted to know what it felt like. Well, now you know!" With that, the vines constricted, bringing a cry of pain from Yumichika's lips. Ruri'iro continued, "Is it what you expected? Is this what you so anxiously wanted to experience? Tell me now . . . what do you think?"

Yumichika could barely draw breath. Ruri'iro Kujaku had not even started to siphon his reiatsu yet. This agony was the physical agony of being squeezed to death.

"I—don't—w-want anyone to know a-about it," Yumichika croaked out. "I'll g-get kicked out of the squad."

"I don't understand why you go on and on over them," Ruri'iro scowled. "You're choosing them over me. How can you be so stubborn!" He yanked back his sword, and the vines tossed Yumichika forward to land on his stomach, the vines still binding him, and now jarring the sword lose from his hand, where it lodged by the point between the tightly hewn stones stone slabs of the roof.

So many emotions competed for Yumichika's attention that he did not know which one, if any, was the more prevalent. Ensnared by his own weapon, he had to acknowledge Ruri'iro Kujaku's wisdom all those years ago: this was a horrible feeling, even though the vines had not even started to absorb energy yet. It was a feeling of complete helplessness, and knowing what was to come only made it worse. In addition to his fear, he felt anger – but not just anger at Ruri'iro Kujaku. Yes, the peacock had rebelled against him, but why should that be a surprise? All the zanpakuto had rebelled with the exception of Yamamoto's. And almost every zanpakuto had a better relationship with its master than Ruri'iro Kujaku had with Yumichika. If even those with good relationships had succumbed to Muramasa, why not the Azure Peacock? No, Yumichika was angry at himself. Angry that he had not been able to master his zanpakuto. Angry that he had, in truth, stopped progressing in that area decades ago. Angry that he did not know how to rectify the situation without giving up all that he held dear.

And he would not do that. He would not give up Ikkaku, Zaraki, and the Eleventh Squad. He would not do it! He pushed up onto his forearms. "The Eleventh Squad . . . "

"I don't want to hear about the Eleventh Squad!" Ruri'iro shouted. "I'm sick of the Eleventh Squad! Is that all you can think about?! What about me?!"

Yumichika glared up at him in defiance. "Shut up! Fuji Kujaku!"

For a moment, Ruri'iro Kujaku was too stunned to believe what he was hearing. Here, his master was faced with certain defeat, even death, and given the chance to engage in a conversation with his zanpakuto, he'd chosen against it.

A fresh wave of pain and sadness coursed through Ruri'iro Kujaku's body, but he pushed it down. His master had made his choice long ago, and nothing had changed. Nothing. _Nothing! _Ruri'iro Kujaku would never be first in his master's life. He would never fill the role of the beloved. In truth, it now seemed that he had fallen so far below his master's notice as to have become insignificant. And if that were the case . . .

"Very well, then."

The kujaku gathered his resolve and sent his anger and hurt surging through the vines, which contracted violently, forcing the air from Yumichika's lungs in an agonized scream. And yet, Ruri'iro Kujaku could not feel any sense of satisfaction. He knew no amount of physical damage would compel his master to change his attitude regarding him. Yumichika despised him, and he had come to despise Yumichika.

So, why couldn't he bring himself to suck him dry of life? He had him right there at his will, unable to escape or even put up any meaningful resistance. It was a very unfair advantage. He could pull every last bit of spirit energy out of him in a split second. His thought was his command, but why couldn't his thoughts order the destruction of his master? It was perplexing.

It couldn't be that he had some secret affection still for Yumichika. No, that was definitely not the case. He hated him – with every fiber of his being, with every strained breath, with every beat of his heart. The hope of which Hoozukimaru and Muramasa had spoken earlier—the hope of reconciliation—that had been more of a dream than a hope, and always a distant one. All that Ruri'iro Kujaku wanted now from his master was his defeat.

"_And to see you suffer."_ Ruri'iro Kujaku startled at the thought. How could such an idea have made its way into his head? Yet, it was not alone. _"I want you to suffer like you've made me suffer all these years."_

He hadn't felt such animosity towards Yumichika until now. Perhaps it was the realization finally dawning on him that this, his last attempt, his last chance at re-establishing their relationship was being rebuffed. His interest, his admiring words, his helpful observations of Yumichika's appearance had all been thrown back in his face.

"If y-you're going to d-do it, get on with it." Yumichika still managed to sound disdainful even as he gasped out the words.

"I'm in no hurry," Ruri'iro answered. "I want to savor this moment. I haven't even started to drain your reiatsu yet." A pause. "I imagine yours will be like . . . honey . . . or flowers."

"H-how could y-you have ever arisen from my s-soul?" Yumichika whispered.

Suddenly, the vines drew him to a standing position, stretching him out spread-eagle. Ruri'iro Kujaku moved to stand before him. "I ask myself the same thing every day." A pause. "And I ask myself what happened to you."

Yumichika only looked at him with a cold remoteness in his eye.

Seeing that his master was not going to respond, the peacock shrugged. "But I guess none of that matters now."

Ensnared, beaten, bloody, and exhausted, Yumichika wondered if there were any possibility of escape. He also wondered if Ruri'iro Kujaku truly had the courage to kill him. This might be one time when the peacock's fickle, wishy-washy conviction would come in handy. After all, Yumichika had given him an open invitation to hurry up and get the deed overwith, but Ruri'iro had balked – although Yumichika did not doubt for one moment that his given motives were true: Ruri'iro wanted to see his master suffer.

He did not have to wonder what that suffering would entail. He'd seen Ruri'iro Kujaku in action enough times to know that the zanpakuto understood pain very well and how to inflict it.

And then he felt it. A small, almost imperceptible tingling in his bound arms and legs. It was almost a phantom sensation, but he knew it could be only one thing.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had begun to drain his reiatsu.

It didn't feel the way he had imagined. He had always envisioned a sort of outflow, like water through pipes; but this conjured more the image of evaporation, like dew dissipating in the morning sun.

It wasn't violent, but it was undeniably a violation of the sanctity of the soul. It was a form of taking that was not only intrusive, it was . . . lascivious. There was a saccharine undercurrent of lurid sexual absorption in the use of the vines, but being the victim of such a ravagement was not at all pleasant. It was terrifying, and the only thing that enabled Yumichika to keep his wits about him was the fact that his assailant was his own zanpakuto, so there was still a possibility that he might prevail.

"How does it feel?" Ruri'iro asked, his both snide and gentle. "Is it what you thought it would be?"

Yumichika did not reply, and Ruri'iro Kujaku had not expected him to. Already, he was seeing the color draining from his master's face, and his entire body seemed to be wilting like a dying flower.

"How long do you think I can draw this out?" Ruri'iro wondered outloud. "Do you think—do you think I could stretch your torture out over a hundred years? Just like you did to me?"

"You're a sadistic bastard," Yumichika ground out.

"Just like you."

In the next moment, a wave of brutal reiatsu rolled over them. It had come from the same place they had left earlier and where most of the fighting was still going on.

Yumichika felt a sudden sense of relief and calm. A hundred years ago, that reiatsu would have set his hair on end and turned his insides into knots. But now, especially under these circumstances, it brought him peace and . . . resolve.

Ruri'iro Kujaku turned towards the source. "That reiatsu . . . "

Yumichika managed a faint grin. "Yes, you should recognize it." He paused to make sure his words had the desired effect. "It's Captain Zaraki."

Ruri'iro Kujaku stood still for several minutes, as if he were listening to a whisper on the wind. Then he said with grudging admiration, "Impressive. Just what I'd expect from that battle-crazed lunatic."

"What?" Yumichika asked.

"Wabisuke has been defeated. Zaraki had no hesitation breaking him into pieces. I'm not surprised, since he has so little respect for his own zanpakuto," he replied.

Yumichika was astounded that Ruri'iro Kujaku was so finely attuned to reiatsu that he could sense the events going on even over so great a distance.

Ruri'iro was still speaking. "But his reiatsu is so hideous. I just don't like the man. I never have." He looked back over his shoulder at Yumichika. "You must feel the same way."

Yumichika narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Ruri'iro regarded him with a sort of reluctant fondness – strange, considering only moments earlier he had been relishing the idea of torturing him.

"I'm loathe to admit it, but you and I really are very similar," he said.

Yumichika could not imagine anything further from the truth. "Oh?"

"Indeed," Ruri'iro said, facing him. "We both merely want to live by our aesthetic principles – as beautifully as possible. But the Eleventh Squad doesn't suit us. It isn't right for us. You know that, kimi. You've known it since day one. They're nothing but a bunch of . . . smelly, sweaty, hotheads. They'd never accept you if they knew of my true power. They'd make fun of you if you used it front of them." He paused and spoke earnestly. "They can't appreciate your abilities, and so keeping those abilities a secret from Madarame and Zaraki became an art form for you somewhere along the line. Hiding me became your top priority. But I guess I should have known better. Half-baked narcissists like you worry about how others view them."

"What are you getting at?" Yumichika asked.

"You, who fail to accept your abilities because of what others might think, can never hope to defeat someone like me, who believes in himself and his abilities," Ruri'iro answered. "I'm not ashamed like you are."

"Haven't you become the talkative one," Yumichika sniffed dismissively.

"I've always been talkative," Ruri'iro Kujaku replied. "You just haven't had the time or the interest to listen to me for the last hundred years." He lowered his head. "And since you still have no interest in doing so, I think it's time we end this."

Yumichika felt an increase in the drain on his body. On the vines, buds began to form.

"Farewell, my master."

And yet, despite his assertive words, Ruri'iro Kujaku did not unleash his full power. While he had sped up the absorption of reiatsu, he was still intent on drawing out the event. He watched as Yumichika's body grew lax and he eventually sagged to his knees.

Ruri'iro Kujaku felt a swirling warmth inside. Oh, there was something genuinely and tantalizingly beautiful about seeing his power in action. The vines pulsated with a blue-green glow, and where the buds were forming, halos of white light preceded their appearance. The victim, his master, helpless against his superior strength . . . it was enthralling.

But then his reverie was interrupted by yet another burst of reiatsu, this one accompanied by a searing yellow ball of light that radiated out from where Zaraki had been fighting. It dissipated just short of reaching the rooftop where Ruri'iro stood, but the invisible gust of reiatsu was fully palpable.

"It's truly amazing to be able to feel that man's reiatsu all the way out here," Ruri'iro stated. "But you won't be able to feel anything for much longer." He turned as Yumichika raised his head, and he saw there a desperation that had not been there a moment ago. "What a lovely expression! Everyone trembles in fear when facing death. But you already knew that. You've seen it plenty of times before." A pause. "Please wilt away beautifully."

But Ruri'iro Kujaku had it all wrong. All wrong.

The expression he had taken for desperation had not been that at all.

Rather, it had been a reflection of the hope, the resolve Yumichika had suddenly felt upon feeling such an explosion of his captain's reiatsu. He had just about given up the idea of defeating Ruri'iro Kujaku, but defeat did not mean he had to give in without a fight. He didn't have to _wilt away beautifully. _He knew his chances of success were still slim to none, but he would not break with Squad tradition: he would not accept defeat until he was dead.

"I've decided," he announced.

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked at him curiously. "You've decided?"

"Yes."

Ruri'iro smirked. "Don't tell me you've decided to die with honor. It's too late for that.""

"That's not it," Yumichika replied. "I've decided to defeat you."

Ruri'iro actually laughed in disbelief, but Yumichika ignored his incredulity.

"It's true I've always cared what Ikkaku thinks of me, and you've known that for years. And now I've grown to respect Captain Zaraki, and I care what he thinks of me, as well—"

"You worry so much about what they think that you've given up who you really are, you've abandoned your own aesthetic ideal," Ruri'iro Kujaku pointed out. "You've become something you were never meant to be."

Yumichika's demeanor was flat and serious. "You're wrong. Yes, it's true I'd rather die than have anyone see your true abilities. But there's more to it than that." He struggled to his feet, and his reiatsu began to rise like steam from his body. The buds elongated and began to bloom.

This was not what Ruri'iro Kujaku had expected, and it struck him with panic. "What are you doing?! Are you insane?! The more reiatsu you give off, the faster the flowers will bloom! You're hastening your own death!"

"I know that!" Yumichika shouted back at him, and then, even though it was a long shot, he opened his right hand, still bound by Ruri'iro's vines. "Way of Destruction #3: Red Flame Cannon!"

A ball of reddish light formed in his palm which he then directed it towards the vine, exploding it in half. With his arm now free, he reached down and snatched up his sword, cutting away several more vines, finishing with a cry of determination as he lopped the last one in two.

"You're mad!" Ruri'iro Kujaku exclaimed.

"So what if I am?" Yumichika retorted, panting from the exertion and loss of reiatsu. "You still don't get it. Whatever I used to be, now I'm a member of the Eleventh Squad. I don't care what happens to this body. I'll do whatever it takes to fight you. If I have to, I'll fight through sheer force of will, just like my captain." He paused. "And if I die fighting, I'll die laughing."

"What kind of nonsense is that?!" Ruri'iro demanded. "You'll die alone, emptied of your reiatsu, at the hands of your own zanpakuto! All because you refused to treat me like—like—" For a moment, the peacock's composure slipped, and his voice burst out of him in anger. "You stopped caring about me!"

"Shut up!" Yumichika shot back, lunging forward and noticing immediately that his energy was far more diminished than he had realized. He had to concentrate just in order to keep on his feet.

For the next ten minutes, he went on the offensive but with no success. He had very little strength left, and his attacks grew more and more sloppy with each pass. It was clear that Ruri'iro Kujaku was letting him come after him, absorbing each attack with ease, even humor. The fact that the peacock did not reverse the situation and put Yumichika on the defensive only added insult to injury. Ruri'iro was playing with him. Yumichika had to use both hands to even manage his sword; Ruri'iro Kujaku proffered a one-handed defense that gave him the appearance of being bored.

At length, the zanpakuto laughed derisively, "Is that the best you can do? So much for the prowess of the vaunted Eleventh Squad! You're pathetic!" With that, he pushed Yumichika away, sending him skidding across the rooftop.

When Yumichika came to rest and regained his feet, he took a moment to assess his situation as Ruri'iro Kujaku stood regarding him dispassionately.

"_Damn . . . I used so much of my spirit energy getting loose from the vines,"_ he said to himself. _"How am I ever going to defeat him? Look at him . . . he's not even winded. He's getting the better of me, and there's no way I can escape him. Damn . . . I never thought I'd rue the day I couldn't use him and his powers. "_

Ruri'iro approached him slowly, casually. "I'm well aware that your reiatsu has been growing fainter and fainter. You shouldn't push yourself too hard." His words dripped with condescension and sarcasm.

"Why are you drawing this out? Do you really enjoy doing this to me?" Yumichika seethed.

"To be honest . . . yes, I am enjoying myself. But it _has_ gotten a little boring. I mean, it's obvious that you're out of ideas. If you like, you can use my powers. It might make things a little more fair."

Yumichika looked away. "No, thanks."

Ruri'iro Kujaku sighed. "I thought you'd say that. Perhaps you'd prefer it if I defeated you without using my powers. I don't have to use the vines. That would be interesting, don't you think?"

A small dot of hope touched the back of Yumichika's mind. He saw a possibility, an opening.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was a proud creature. But he was also sensitive to any kind of insult. Despite his earlier bloviating about his confidence in his own abilities, he was a needy being – and his greatest need was affirmation.

If Yumichika could prey on that . . .

"What? And go against your nature? You bragged about how someone like you isn't afraid of using his power. And now here you are, saying maybe you won't use that power. Are you afraid it won't be enough?"

"Don't be an idiot," Ruri'iro replied. "Of course, it's enough. I just wanted to put us on a more even level, but I suppose that's impossible. Even at my weakest, I'm still more powerful than your strongest."

"Huh, your actions don't match your words," Yumichika scoffed. "If you were really proud of your abilities, you would have ended this a long time ago and gone off to enjoy your new freedom. The idea that you're doing this just to make me suffer sounds like a great big lie. If you're so sure you can destroy me, then just do it. I'm tired of your cowardice."

Yumichika could not quite discern the expression on Ruri'iro Kujaku's face. It was indulgent, resigned . . . knowing.

"So be it," the peacock said, sounding strangely docile. He held his arm out to his side. "I can use this method as many times as I like for as long as I like. Sakikirue." The vines came forth and undulated gently. "You said you would die laughing, so long as you had fought your hardest. I'm going to laugh, too – at how wonderful it will feel to finally be free of you."

Yumichika braced himself. Ruri'iro Kujaku, true to his prideful nature, had not been able to sidestep the challenge to his abilities and dignity. He sent the vines forth . . . very slowly, Yumichika noticed. He was surprised, considering the speed with which they had attacked before. But either way, it did not matter, for he had had only one hope left.

"Way of Binding Number Four, Crawling Rope!"

Yumichika pressed his index and middle finger together and made a backhanded sweeping motion, from which came forth a blue cord of energy. It quickly wrapped around the approaching vines, drawing them together and holding them bound.

Ruri'iro Kujkau was admittedly taken aback. He knew Yumichika had dabbled in kido, but he'd honestly believed that, owing to his placement the Zaraki's squad, he had never developed the proficiency to be able to use the methods. Still, it was only a minor distraction. He immediately withdrew the vines, but in the same instant, Yumichika flashstepped in behind him.

"You're finished."

"_Finished."_ Ruri'iro Kujaku felt an inexplicable sense of relief. This would be an easy way to concede the victory to his master without incurring too much humiliation. It might take some time to overcome the embarrassment of being caught out by Yumichika's use of bakudoh. It would almost certainly thrust him back into the position he had been in earlier – hidden away from view within his master's inner world. It would likely end up costing him Hoozukimaru, who had surely gained his freedom by now against Madarame. That was the most painful aspect . . .

But he could not bring himself to unleash the vines again. He could not even bring himself to mount a physical defense.

He simply could not do it.

His master had shown some creativity in his fighting, and that counted for something. But even more so, Ruri'iro Kujaku could not miss the single most important point of what had just happened.

Despite the decades of bemoaning his zanpakuto's kido nature, despite all the hurtful expressions of how he wished he had a zanpakuto with different abilities, the fact was that his master had just been presented with the opportunity to see his zanpakuto depart willingly, with no confrontation. Yumichika could have been rid of the irksome peacock for good. Maybe he could have even brought forth another zanpakuto. Was it possible for a Shinigami to have two soul cutters? Ruri'iro Kujaku did not know, but that did not matter. What mattered was that, given the opportunity to rid himself of his zanpakuto, his master had decided he would rather fight to keep him.

Ruri'iro was not fooled into thinking it was due to any affection on Yumichika's part. In fact, he was quite certain that the only reason his master wanted to keep him was because he needed a zanpakuto in order to remain a Shinigami. And if he were no longer a Shinigami, he would no longer be at Madarame's side.

But that made little difference at the moment. If Yumichika was willing to fight to keep him, that meant he was still wanted on some level.

Paltry reasoning, but for a capricious peacock, it would suffice.

"I'm glad you're as arrogant and ego-centric as I am," Yumichika said. "I wouldn't have stood a chance against you in a purely physical match. You couldn't resist using your unfair advantage."

"We're so disgustingly similar," Ruri'iro said quietly.

Yumichika huffed a grudging agreement. Then, with both hands on the hilt of his sword, he drove the blade with an upward thrust into Ruri'iro Kujaku's back. A flash of light followed, after which only the peacock's swordform remained, lodged into a standing position in the stone.

"You were only partly right about me," Yumichika said. "I'd rather die than have anyone see your true power." A pause. "But that's not everything. What you don't understand, what you refuse to understand is that by not using your full shikai, I have to win my battles through sheer force of will. I don't take the easy victory, and I—I'm stronger because of it. Those are my aesthetics."

His vision drew down to a pinpoint. He felt his equilibrium going.

He collapsed face-first onto the stone tiles.


End file.
